Road to Redemption
by Padfoot Lives
Summary: A dark force haunts the trio. The dead come back to life. This is a story about loss, damnation, and a dead man’s last chance at redemption …
1. Heaven and Hell

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Disclaimer: "Harry Potter" and all other aspects of this fic that you recognize (unless they're from any of my other fics) all belong to J.K. Rowling, and not to me!  
  
Summary: A dark force haunts the trio. When the dead come back to life, can you deal with what they might have to tell you? This is a story about loss, damnation, and a dead man's second chance at redemption ...  
  
Note: Capital 'M' in 'the Man' indicates that the man is the main, nameless character  
  
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Road to Redemption  
  
Chapter One: Heaven and Hell  
  
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It had been dark, so very dark. The Man had fallen, and he had watched as nameless faces and shadows had sucked the last of life from him, watching as darkness swooped in to steal away all the light. But now, suddenly, it was as if he was moving once again. He could feel liquid around him, a strange, light sort of liquid that he was being propelled through. Some force was pushing him, fast, through this liquid, and as he felt his eyes open, he saw twinkles of light, rays of light. They were intertwining, flowing, making a sort of web that he was flying through.  
  
Where was he? What incredibly unfamiliar, puzzling, almost frightening place was this? Was it a tunnel of some sort of nightmare? Had he really dreamed the entire thing, the fall, the death ... was he indeed dead? Of course he had to be dead. He had felt the life leave him, hadn't he?  
  
So what was this?  
  
The lights were growing brighter. The Man blinked, and saw that he was in indeed some sort of tunnel, a mysterious place. He was powerless to stop his furious onslaught into this mass. Up ahead, he could see what looked like the end of the tunnel. No – there were TWO ends to the tunnel. There was a tube leading downwards, into something red and fiery. And there was a tube leading upwards, to where soft music tinkled from. If he had been confused before, he was downright flummoxed now. Music and fire? This was utterly ridiculous. Why, if he wasn't smarter, he would think he was in –  
  
// Merlin's beard! //  
  
He would think he was going through a tunnel of death, heading for either Heaven or Hell. But surely wizards didn't go to heaven and hell. At least, the Man had never heard of anyone who had. Of course, that assumption might be due to the fact that nobody who had ever died had actually come back to inform the living of where they had been. Except for ghosts, who had been too cowardly to even enter this tunnel.  
  
The Man felt a shiver of fear electrocute his spine. He felt solid, sort of. His limbs seemed sort of translucent, but they still moved. But he couldn't control them, and this furious force was taking him closer to those tunnels. He felt the heat of Hell's tube, and perspiration broke out on his forehead and neck. Dear stars above, was he going to hell? He realized the force was dipping him lower. He WAS going to hell! The Man was horrified, and not a little alarmed. How could he watch over the people he had left behind from hell? His non-alive heart thumped a little faster.  
  
He was scared.  
  
Hell. Oh God, no, not hell. I haven't committed so many crimes, have I?  
  
Then, as he approached the terrifying tube, the fierce force pushing him yanked him upwards, so abruptly that he felt the breath knocked out of him. The Man gasped, startled as he collided straight into the wall between heaven and hell. Merciful demons! He was dead, but that didn't stop the impact from hurting.  
  
Groaning in his mind, he felt the force pry him off the wall. It seemed to be confused, as if it had not expected the victim's inability to be taken to hell. Or in fact, the victim's inability to be taken anywhere. The Afterlife-Bearer who had been forcing the Man along was confused. How could it be that this human could not go to either heaven or hell? The Man himself lay pinned against the wall, stunned, feeling sick. His emotions were coming back, now that the initial shock of death had faded. He had failed them, failed his friends, failed them all ... he deserved to go to hell.  
  
The Afterlife-Bearer was invisible, and surveyed this broken Man with a half-pitying, half-exasperated look. As if his work wasn't hard enough, meeting dead people all the time ... but look at him. He was so miserable. He couldn't leave this Man here for the rest of eternity. It was his duty –  
  
Damn duty, thought the Bearer, sighing. He closed his eyes and sent thought waves up to Saint Peter, who was the authority on all dead people, and the Bearer's employer. "Sorry to disturb you, sir – " (Saint Peter was known to be crabby and disliked being awakened from a good nap) "– But we have a problem in the Tunnel of Just-After-Dying."  
  
"What problem?" came Peter's puzzled response in his mind.  
  
"There's a dead human here, sir, who isn't going to hell – or to heaven. In- between."  
  
"WHAT?"  
  
"It's true, sir."  
  
"Who is he?" demanded Saint Peter. "Give me his vital statistics. I must run a cross-reference on this human being. It's downright ridiculous. Why, I haven't heard of anyone going to the in-between wall in over four centuries. The last was that girl – Joan of Arc – or something. Unusual one, that."  
  
"He's a wizard, sir, of the English variety. Died over an hour ago, by unusual circumstances, even by wizarding standards." The Bearer was worried. "He seems to be undergoing great emotion torture."  
  
Peter's sigh echoed in the Bearer's head. "Bring him to my chamber."  
  
The Bearer reached invisible tendrils down to the Man, and yanked him upwards, via a special portal, to where Saint Peter awaited him. The Man fell to smooth, marble ground and climbed to his feet, clenching his jaw as he observed the room around him. White pillars, clouds and gold gates in the distance. The Man rolled his eyes. Why did he think Hogwarts was so much more fun?  
  
"So," said a funny-looking man in a white loin cloth, with fluffy white hair and a golden halo over his head.  
  
The Man shuddered. He would hate to have a halo. "So?" He inquired, as politely as his volatile temper would allow.  
  
"Do you understand our problem, Mr – er – oh dear. I have a record here in the book for you, right under your highly interesting name. You see, you seem to be a rare one indeed. You're not good enough for heaven, but you're not bad enough for hell either. Your points on either side equal perfectly."  
  
"Oh?" The Man was surprised, and a little baffled.  
  
"Do you see your good deeds and your misdeeds, young man? You are to be praised for noble acts, such as that of attempting to save your best friends' lives, such as rescuing innocent teenagers from a misguided werewolf and such as fighting off Death Eaters, and being quite a notable member of the magical society. However, you are guilty of a terrible reputation – murder, betrayal, threat, breaking out of the gaol, etc, etc. You are guilty of theft, vandalism and – "  
  
The Man looked at the marble floor and had the grace to blush. He shrugged, and looked up again with a typical rakish grin. Had Saint Peter been a woman, he might have succeeded in wiping off the stern look on that worthy saint's face, but this was not to be.  
  
"So what happens to me now?" He demanded.  
  
"That is the problem," Peter sighed, and tapped his forehead irritably. "I don't have the brains for matters like these. Satan would laugh at me if he could see me now. What in heaven am I to do with you? If only there was some wise person to ask. Going to Judas is quite out of the question."  
  
The Man cleared his throat, unable to quell a grin. "What about – uh – your Lord Almighty?"  
  
"The Almighty mustn't be disturbed with mundane things such as these," snapped Peter loftily, narrowing his saintly eyes in a very un-saintly manner. He groaned. "I suppose I'll have to make this decision myself – "  
  
At that moment, a telephone rang. The Man looked up in interest; as a pureblood wizard, he had rarely seen Muggle-like telephones, and had certainly never used one. He watched as Saint Peter tapped a button labelled 'speaker phone' and said sharply, "Yes? Is that you, Cerberus?"  
  
A very gruff, canine-like voice whined, "Peter, I have a problem, sir. I know we work for opposite sides, but surely you can do an old acquaintance a favor, please. Lord Hades/Satan is driving me crazy with his bad temper. Apparently, there's been some mess-up somewhere in the Tunnel."  
  
Peter frowned at the phone. "Yes?"  
  
"There was a man who was supposed to come to us, but at the last minute, he disappeared right out of our trace and all my three heads will be starved if I don't retrieve the soul for him. Hades is particularly determined to have this man's soul, because not only is this human a wizard and very powerful, but he has a remarkably shrewd and creative side."  
  
The Man was flattered; Peter glared quellingly at him. Then the saint said slowly, "What is this man's name?"  
  
Cerberus told him.  
  
"According to my files, Cerberus," Peter said wryly, "This Man was once a student of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, but incidentally, he was sorted into Gryffindor. That House is one of noble and heroic sorts. Surely Hades cannot one of good to possess! Why does he really want it?"  
  
"This one's an original, Peter," whined the three-headed crony, "And he's SUPPOSED to be here in Hell with us. His points were even but he tipped the scales with mistreatment of a lesser creature – a house-elf, I believe. Have you seen his soul anywhere?"  
  
Peter hesitated. Saints were not supposed to lie, even to demons. He frowned at the Man, who was waiting curiously, and said, "No, Cerberus, I haven't seen him. I'll let you know." He clicked off the phone, and looked up at the Man. "He's right, you know. Your mistreatment of a house-elf should have tipped the scales. But something evened them out again. What was it, what was it ..." he froze, staring at the Man's file. "Dear me."  
  
"What?" the Man demanded, patience never one of his virtues. "What is it?"  
  
"You're – you're supposed to go back."  
  
"Excuse me?"  
  
"You're supposed to go back down to earth. No, you can't be alive again, but because of your sincerely noble character and your capacity for love, mortal desire and courage, the Fates have decided that you deserve another chance to redeem yourself. You, my dear man, will go to Hell. The Fates have chosen to give you one last chance to save yourself from damnation. You are a damned man."  
  
The Man was silent. How could he have expected anything else? Of course he was damned. Think of the things he had done, his experiences, the things he had seen, the people he had helped and trusted and betrayed, all that he had done. But it hurt, to know that he was a damned soul.  
  
But here there was a chance for hope. A chance for redemption, to enter Heaven. Heaven ... where he would see his friends again, all those he had already lost. He was actually being offered a chance to go back and see those he loved, whom he had left behind – and after that, he would be able to see those he had lost years ago. It was incredible. But there had to be some kind of catch –  
  
Peter looked at him thoughtfully. "So you understand you will have a difficult task to complete in order to redeem yourself," he smiled slightly.  
  
The Man nodded.  
  
"Look here," Peter waved a hand and a pool opened up in the floor. They both peered in; they could see three young teenagers. One was a black- haired boy with glasses, a redhaired boy, and a pretty brunette girl. "I believe you know these three young magical people. They are in grave danger."  
  
"Merlin's beard," the Man swore. Of course, he knew they were in danger, but something in Saint Peter's tone made him afraid.  
  
"The two boys are well-protected by others of their kind, and by fate," continued Peter, "But the future of the girl is not so clear. She is in danger, for dark forces seek to claim her as their own. There is a man of evil – Hades' dream soul, no doubt, and he'll probably take over the throne of Hell when he dies – a man you call 'the Dark Lord'. He seeks her, this girl you know so well."  
  
"Hermione ..." the Man looked down into the vortex, angry and astonished. How could this be happening? He'd always thought Harry Potter was the one the Dark Lord sought out the most, not Harry's clever, bushy-haired young best friend. He looked up at Peter. "What's my task, Peter?"  
  
"It is your task to protect her. There will come a moment when the Dark Lord will come to claim her, and there will be danger shrouding her. You must save her from that danger, for there will be no one else, and she will not see these subtle dangers until it is too late. She is a valuable soul for Heaven, but it is not her time. She can do much good. You must ensure she survives the Dark Lord's threat. If you can do that, you will gain passage into Heaven. Is that what you want?"  
  
"Yes," the Man said without hesitation. He had never considered going to Heaven, but knowing that they would be waiting for him there ... "I want to enter Heaven. There – there are people there – " His voice caught, and he looked at the ground, once more reflecting over the nightmare his life had been, the terrible things he had allowed to happen. "I'll protect her, Peter. You can trust me with this task."  
  
"Be careful," Peter said gently. "Hades seeks your soul. If Cerberus finds out that your spirit is on earth with the girl, they will stop at nothing to sabotage your plans and destroy everything for you, damning your soul forever."  
  
The Man was silent, and then asked, "I'll be a spirit?"  
  
"Only the girl, Hermione, will be able to see and hear you. Nobody else."  
  
"Oh."  
  
"You'd better be on your way," Peter said, "When you reach earth again, it will be one month into their new school year – their sixth year, I believe. I believe you can manage after you reach there. Take care of her, and take care of yourself." He raised a hand. "Before you go, I think you need a haircut, a shave and some new clothes. You're in a terrible state. Have you been drinking? Yes, you have, don't bother lying. Yet another black mark against you. When will you learn?"  
  
Peter reminded the Man forcibly of a certain Professor Minerva McGonagall. He grinned, sorely wishing she could see and hear him as well. It would be great to scare the tartan dressing gown off her!  
  
"Get ready, young man."  
  
Peter snapped his fingers, and a rush of force seized the Man and he felt as if he was whirling through time and space, whirling backwards by some magical force. He was going back ... his heart lifted with elation ... he was going back, he was going back ... and he disappeared from the marble room.  
  
The saint sat staring at the spot on which this rare man had stood for so long. He smiled to himself, and murmured, "Good luck, Sirius Black."  
  
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TBC.  
  
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A/N: Well, this is a new idea of mine and I'm hoping to see how it works. Please review and let me know whether you think I should go on with it!  
  
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	2. Dreams Awaken

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Disclaimer: "Harry Potter" and all other aspects of this fic that you recognize (unless they're from any of my other fics) all belong to J.K. Rowling, and not to me!  
  
Summary: A dark force haunts the trio. When the dead come back to life, can you deal with what they might have to tell you? This is a story about loss, damnation, and a dead man's second chance at redemption ...  
  
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Road to Redemption  
  
Chapter Two: Dreams Reawaken  
  
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**  
  
Hermione Granger stumbled down the stairs from her dormitory. It was very late, closer to dawn than to midnight, but she had just been awoken from a restless sleep. She wasn't quite sure why she had woken, only that some compulsion had yanked her brutally from her not-so-sweet dreams. Stifling a yawn, she emerged into the empty Gryffindor common room. The fire was still blazing.  
  
Over the summer, Hermione had grown up quite a bit. She was more closed about her feelings but more compassionate towards those of others, especially Harry's. He had had a hard summer. So had she, but that wasn't the point.  
  
Physically, she had changed a lot as well. Her bushy hair was sleeker, silkier now. Fred and George had said she was more attractive now, but Hermione had shrugged the compliment off (coming from the twins, one could never be sure whether to take these things seriously). Either way, she wasn't very interested in how she looked. She had NEWTs to start worrying about, Harry to worry about, Voldemort and the Order of the Phoenix to worry about, her own nightmares to worry about, Sirius's death to worry about (or to grieve about). Basically, Hermione worried. These days, it seemed to be second nature.  
  
Now, she wandered slowly toward the armchairs by the fire and sank down into one. Pushing her tousled hair out of her eyes, she stared into the flames and tried not to think about anything at all. But of course, that was impossible. She resignedly let the thoughts flit through her head, one after another in a stream of endless memory, and tried not to cry. Then she heard a sound.  
  
"Can't sleep, Harry?"  
  
"How did you know it was me?" The green-eyed young wizard asked, rubbing his eyes as he put his glasses back on, and took an armchair close facing hers, also beside the fire. He looked tired.  
  
Hermione smiled. "Women's intuition?" Her voice gentled slightly, and she studied Harry with a thoughtful expression. "You look terrible, Harry. If I didn't know better, I'd think you haven't eaten in days. Have you got a nasty case of insomnia or are Ron and Neville keeping you awake with their incessant snores?"  
  
"Ron and Neville," Harry joked, laughing. It was typical of Hermione to pay attention to almost everything. Nothing escaped her notice. He felt better, just knowing that he wasn't alone. "So why are you here?"  
  
"Something woke me up."  
  
"Something – like a sound?"  
  
"Oh no, nothing like that, Harry, so don't worry. I'm not sure what it was – some sort of odd feeling, I think, that stirred me from dreams. Not that I'm ungrateful. I wasn't dreaming about anything pleasant."  
  
"Neither was I."  
  
Hermione asked shrewdly, gently: "Sirius?"  
  
"Of course, what else?"  
  
She looked at Harry for a long moment. There were shadows in his green eyes, and she felt so very helpless. If only there was something she could do to allow him some happiness again. Oh, why had it been Sirius? If it had only been someone else ... if it had only been her instead. She would gladly exchange her life for his. So deep were her thoughts as she studied her best friend that she wasn't aware of his scrutiny, and Harry saw much more than Hermione would have guessed.  
  
He saw the weariness and sadness in every line of her features, every glow of her eyes. He saw how much she worried about him, about everyone else, everything else. He realized that Sirius's death had taken much more from them – from him – that anyone could know. It had taken Hermione's youth.  
  
"Oh, 'Mione – "  
  
She was startled, but she smiled. "Harry, don't look at me like that. You couldn't have expected me to go on with my life as easily as I did before, could you? I adored Sirius, you know. I complained about his recklessness, but I admired the way he fought the blows life threw at him. He was someone special."  
  
"Yes ... he was."  
  
"It's hard to talk about him in the past tense, isn't it?" Hermione said softly. "It's impossible to believe he's actually gone. I mean – it was *Sirius*. He took life by the horns. He survived losing his best friends, he survived Azkaban."  
  
"I know," Harry nodded, smiling slightly, "It just seems so bloody unfair that he wasn't able to survive the Veil. He went through all of that, for what? He lost everything all over again, and we lost him." A tear glistened in his eye, but he dashed it away angrily. "I swear to God, 'Mione, if I ever see Bellatrix Lestrange again – "  
  
"You just worry about Voldemort, Harry. Leave Bellatrix to me."  
  
"To do that – to another of her own blood – "  
  
"Blood," Hermione said bitterly, "What does that matter in our world, Harry? Perhaps your Aunt Petunia's blood link to you protects you in Privet Drive, but beyond that, blood has no meaning. Sirius's entire family was dark. But look at what he was. He was a Gryffindor, and he was a good guy."  
  
"Where do you think he is now?"  
  
"I don't know ... I don't know at all."  
  
Harry stood up. "Thanks for talking," he said quietly, reaching out to touch the top of Hermione's head, "I needed it. I think I'll go back to bed and attempt to brave Neville and Ron's snores. You should probably get some rest too. Goodnight."  
  
"'Night, Harry," Hermione responded.  
  
His footsteps drifted back up the stairs, until they faded away into the eerie silence of the night. Hermione remained in the chair, silent and still, listening to the whispers of her own thoughts, rustling like leaves in a gentle breeze. She thought about the dreams she had once had. She had dreamed of a future free of darkness, a future where they could live normal lives. Where Harry and Ron could become godfathers to her children, where she would be their kids' disapproving Aunt Hermione –  
  
Dreams, dreams, so many dreams. Dreams of hope and tranquillity and escape from the nightmare that her world had become.  
  
All her dreams had died with Sirius.  
  
In just two short years, Sirius had become such an inextricable part of her life. If you had a problem, go to Sirius. If you needed someone to talk to or to trust, go to Sirius. Handsome, cynical, black-eyed Sirius with his ready bark of laughter and humour. Sirius with his humanity intact even after years of torture.  
  
But Sirius was gone. They had laughed together about how he would one day carry her son on his back, how he would be a ceaseless annoyance to her because he would keep coming to her home – now a free, innocent man – and he would burst in unannounced just to wake her sleeping child up and tickle him or her. There had been so many things they had laughed about, so many futures they had all talked about, and to know that it was all lost to her – and to the others – forever ...  
  
Yes, Hermione thought sadly, brushing tears away from her eyes. Their dreams and their hopes had died with Sirius.  
  
She turned her head and looked out of the window, taking in the velvet sky with the stars in them ... Cannis Major with Sirius the Dog Star. She tore her gaze away from those stars bitterly, sadly, fighting back tears. She was furious, completely angry with herself for not being able to let go. But the anger covered up deep grief. It was so hard, so impossible to let go. Sirius had epitomized life to all of them. How could he be gone?  
  
The moon was full over the Hogwarts grounds. Professor Lupin was probably having a bad night, Hermione thought sympathetically. A cricket rattled somewhere in the distance. Up in the boys' dormitory, Harry would be searching for sleep, Ron would be locked into his dreams. Somewhere else in the castle, Professor Dumbledore would be staring into his Pensieve.  
  
Out in the grounds, Snape was probably walking. Hermione had noticed a slight change in him since Sirius's death. It was almost regret, as if he regretted the bitter words he had spoken to the Animagus. Hermione had heard all about it – sometimes she wondered whether it had been Snape's goading that had forced Sirius to the Department of Mysteries that fatal night ...  
  
Somewhere near Snape, but far enough to remain in the darkness, there would be the bent frame of Hagrid, wandering, looking for Grawp or some other monstrous creature. For every person out there or in the castle, there was somebody, some presence nearby to offer a silent, unwitting comfort.  
  
But inside this common room, Hermione was painfully aware that she was very much alone.  
  
A sudden sound jerked her from her reverie. It was a rushing sound, and then a soft thud on the common room floor. Hermione blinked, startled, as she heard a groan. She was just about to stand up and turn around, when a familiar voice made her freeze:  
  
"I'm going to kill that saint. Couldn't he have warned me it would be painful?"  
  
Hermione gasped, and tremblingly, got to her feet. She turned around at the same time that the unexpected visitor turned around, and they stared at each other. Hermione felt the blood drain out of her face. How on earth was this humanly possible? It was downright ridiculous. It couldn't be – not –  
  
"Sirius?"  
  
"Hey, Hermione," the handsome thirty-four-year-old Animagus greeted, his voice a mixture of tentative greeting and cheerful abandon.  
  
"You – you can speak!"  
  
"Uh – " Sirius was unsure how to respond to this. Evidently, Hermione was not feeling quite all there in the head.  
  
Hermione stared at him, feeling slightly dizzy. In front of her stood Sirius Black, attired in Muggle clothing that looked worse for wear. And he was standing in this very room. He didn't look like a man who has recently died, but more like a man who has been on a holiday to a spa! And he was standing in this room. With short hair, beard shaved off, slightly haggard but otherwise athletic look.  
  
*And* he was standing here.  
  
At last, Hermione understood the situation. Of course, it was glaringly obvious, wasn't it? She smiled tentatively at Sirius, rubbing her temples with the tips of the fingers. "I understand it all now," she said loudly, "I've gone mad."  
  
Sirius personally agreed, but ventured not to say so. Instead, he spoke: "That's up to you, of course, but if you mean you believe you're going mad because you see me standing here in the Gryffindor common room, I can assure you, you aren't."  
  
"I'm not seeing you?"  
  
"No," he said, frustrated, "You're not going mad, because I *am* here."  
  
"Hallucinations always say that," Hermione said loftily, eyeing Sirius with suspicion. Now that her initial shock had waned, she was angry that she should have such delusions, not to mention a stab of pain at seeing him. "Why on earth should I believe that you're a real – person – standing here?"  
  
Sirius counted to ten, and then said, "Don't make me lose my temper, Hermione Granger!"  
  
"But – but – you're dead!"  
  
"I *know* that, thank you very much."  
  
"But – " Hermione was baffled. "If you know that, how can you be here?"  
  
"It's a very long story, and I see that I'm going to have to tell you all of it," sighed the wizard, rolling his eyes and sinking down into an armchair opposite her to explain the situation. "Being Muggle-born, you must have heard all about Heaven and Hell, and Hades/Satan and Cerberus and Saint Peter and Judas?"  
  
If Hermione had thought she was losing her grasp on reality before, it had been nothing compared to how she felt now. She gaped incredulously at Sirius with quite unadulterated astonishment.  
  
"Yes, I've heard all about them," she managed weakly, "Cerberus and Hades are the Greek versions of Satan and his minions. Judas betrayed Christ. Peter is said to manage the gates to heaven."  
  
"Great," Sirius said, "Now that we've accomplished that, I can tell you that I met them. Well, not all of them, but I met Peter. He's not very impressive, but you have to admit, he's got a way about him, and certainly has some brains. That Cerberus fellow – heard him on the telly-fo – telephone – yeah, I didn't like him much. He whined."  
  
"He's – uh – he's a dog."  
  
"That explains it."  
  
"Oh merciful heavens!" Hermione gasped, rubbing her head again, "I cannot doubt that I'm going mad. None of this could possibly be real. You," she pointed at Sirius angrily, "Are not a real apparition, but merely an unreal apparition."  
  
Sirius held onto his patience with iron control. "How about if I prove it?"  
  
"How will you do that?"  
  
Good question. "All right, look," he said slowly, "I obviously can't prove it to you, because anything I tell you about yourself that only you can know, won't convince you because you'll think I got it straight from your mind because you think I'm from your mind. But I'm not. I'm really here."  
  
"That's convincing."  
  
"Listen to me!" He yelled. "I've been sent back. I died in that Veil on that night, Hermione, and I'm doomed to be sent to hell. But because of my good character – or some nonsense like that – the fates have decided to give me one chance at redemption. And that's why I'm here. To redeem myself."  
  
Hermione opened her mouth to retort, but found that she couldn't find the words. Sirius, dead and returned from the grave to redeem himself? It sounded absurd, utterly wacky. Was she going mad or was he? No, wait. To ask whether he was the one going made would mean that she was admitting he was real, and that he was actually standing there. Oh, dear stars. Was Sirius actually *real*? Could this really be?  
  
"Oh my God," she whispered, her intuition nagging at her, "S-Sirius? Oh, God ..." she sank weakly down into the nearest armchair, and continued to stare at him.  
  
Sirius thanked his lucky stars that she was finally close to understanding. He looked at her, now really looking at her. She was startlingly pretty, but what caught his attention was the intense exhaustion and burden carried in her eyes. It was as if youth and life had been stripped from her, leaving behind a shell of hollow emptiness and feeling for others, but not for herself.  
  
He moved closer to her and crouched down in front of the armchair, touching her hands with his. She stared, as if electrified. Apparently, he was solid to Hermione and inanimate objects, but not to anyone else.  
  
"It's really me," he said softly, "They sent me back, Hermione."  
  
"But – " she faltered, "– *why*?"  
  
"I told you: I'm here to redeem myself. The only way I can save myself from hell is to complete a task here on earth. I'm still dead," he added gently, and said sadly, "And you're the only one who can see or hear or touch me."  
  
"A task? I'm the only person?" Hermione managed feebly, feeling like she was sinking deeper into a pool of sticky molasses.  
  
He nodded. "Hermione, there's no easy way to say this: you're in danger. Voldemort is after you. According to Peter, who we can assume is a know-it- all in all things on earth, Voldemort has formed an obsession for you. His main goal is still to destroy Harry, but right now, you're in more immediate danger. He doesn't want your brains or your power – he wants *you*. Do you understand that?"  
  
She understood, but she didn't have a clue why Voldemort would be obsessed with her? Plain-Jane Hermione, attractive to the Dark Lord? She started rubbing her head again, unable to grasp this. It was a bit much to take in in one night – no, one hour – first Sirius appearing, Sirius being real but still dead, and now to hear that she was in danger because the Dark Lord was obsessed with her!  
  
She was beginning to have a migraine.  
  
"So your – your task is to – to – protect me?" she asked slowly.  
  
"I knew you were smart," Sirius grinned, the old grin, "Yeah, Hermione, that's my job here. I'm here to watch over you – a sort of guardian angel, I suppose. If I can save you, I will be worthy of entering heaven."  
  
"But – you can't be bad enough to warrant damnation!"  
  
"I am a damned man, Hermione," he said gravely, "Surely you can understand. People who have seen the sorts of things I have, fought the kinds of wars I have – it scars their hearts, and black hearts take you one step closer to hell. The Dementors took a part of my soul out of me in Azkaban – a dark soul damns you surer than anything else. Besides that, Peter says I've got a bad reputation here on earth, and disregard for the way society views me is another mark against me. Then there's theft – "  
  
"Where?"  
  
"Hogsmeade, of course. Vandalism – Hogwarts grounds, other people's homes in my youthful days. Disregard for law and order – I'm well known for being a reckless marauder with no respect for authority. I think my respect for Dumbledore is probably my one saving grace, but that wasn't enough. And of course, there are impure thoughts." Sirius grinned. "Come on, he's a saint! Of course he counts impure thoughts as a sin. In normal people, that wouldn't count for so much, but I'm anything but normal, aren't I?"  
  
Hermione groaned. "Oh, this is too much! I'm in danger because Voldemort wants me, you're here to protect me from that danger and only I can see or hear you – you're actually *here*! Oh, Sirius!"  
  
Without warning, she flung her arms around his neck and hugged him tightly. Sirius nearly choked, but felt a flicker of forgotten warmth at the affection. He hadn't expected such a welcome. It was good to know she had missed him, that she had regarded – still looked at him – with similar affection to what he regarded her with. He hugged her back, and then gently disentangled himself from her.  
  
"Now that I'm here," he said, smiling, "Maybe we can take some of those worries off your shoulders. Leave it all to me. Ghosts – or whatever I am – don't get tired easily."  
  
"I wish Harry could see – "  
  
"I know," he said, sobering up. "Listen, Hermione. Harry's heart is scarring. He doesn't have the essential purity you do – he's got a bit of James, a bit of me in him. If there's one thing you can do for me, it's to keep an eye on him, keep him from the edge. I don't want him damned when his time comes."  
  
"I'll take care of him, Sirius."  
  
"I believe that." Sirius moved back into the armchair and studied her like Harry had studied her just moments before Sirius had appeared. "You look drained of all energy. I think Peter sent me here for more than just to protect you from Voldemort."  
  
"I'm fine."  
  
"You've never been able to fool me with that, Hermione," he laughed wryly, "And you don't fool me now. I'm not Ron, to believe anything gullibly – he's an innocent, rare one indeed. I'm not Harry, who is too tormented by his own nightmares to look deeper than the surface. You're not fine."  
  
"When you died – "  
  
He understood. Wordlessly, he just looked at her, and managed to convey his appreciation for how much she cared about him, his compassion for how she had managed to cope, and his guilt for leaving her behind. His guilt for leaving Harry behind. His guilt for leaving Remus behind. Sirius realized now that if there were three people in the world who had really needed him, they were Harry, Remus and Hermione. And he had failed them by dying and leaving them behind.  
  
Hermione felt her heavy lids droop, the compulsion keeping her awake now fading. She understood why she had awoken and come down here now. She didn't want to sleep; she was afraid that she would wake and find that it had all been a dream.  
  
Sirius reached across and squeezed her hand. "I'll be here when you wake up," he promised, understanding her thoughts without even hearing them.  
  
"G-Good," Hermione murmured sleepily, her word punctuated with a yawn. She curled up into the chair, tightening her grip on Sirius's hand, and allowed herself to fall asleep. And as she fell into dreams that were not haunted, she realized that, for the first time, she felt a glimmer of hope for their future.  
  
**  
  
TBC.  
  
**  
  
*  
  
A/N: Most of the reviews I've received have been positive, asking me to update and approving of the story! I actually like the idea, so I'm going to continue with it. Thanks for reviewing and letting me know what you guys think of it. Please keep doing so!  
  
* 


	3. Signs of Evil in the Air

*  
  
Disclaimer: "Harry Potter" and all other aspects of this fic that you recognize (unless they're from any of my other fics) all belong to J.K. Rowling, and not to me!  
  
Summary: A dark force haunts the trio. When the dead come back to life, can you deal with what they might have to tell you? This is a story about loss, damnation, and a dead man's second chance at redemption ...  
  
**  
  
*  
  
Road to Redemption  
  
Chapter Three: Signs of Evil in the Air  
  
*  
  
**  
  
On the following day, Hermione was the source of greatest astonishment to all who really knew her. Although she tried valiantly to remain normal, the fact remained that after one meets a dead man whom one has been missing, and learns that the dead man has come back to protect one – it was impossible to stay precisely normal. This lack of normality was swiftly noticed.  
  
Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil were astonished to see Hermione humming in the Gryffindor sixth-year girls' dormitory that morning. Ron was rendered speechless when Hermione offered to help him with his homework. Harry was torn between incredulity and delight at the sparks of life Hermione was beginning to show again. Neville Longbottom nearly fell off his chair when Hermione suggested they all take a break from studying and go out into the sunshine. And every single Gryffindor was utterly flabbergasted when Professor McGonagall severely reprimanded Hermione for *not paying attention* in Transfiguration ("Would you like to go see Madam Pomfrey, Miss Granger? Are you not feeling well?").  
  
Only Sirius, invisible and unheard, knew exactly what was going on and made Hermione suffer from fighting back giggles several times that day, simply because he was collapsed in laughter at her behaviour – and others'.  
  
That evening, Professor Dumbledore sought out a few of the Gryffindors and explained that they would all be going to Grimmauld Place, the Headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix, for dinner that night. When Harry, his expression darkening at the thought of going back there, asked why they were going to dinner, Dumbledore gently explained that they could perhaps keep poor Professor Lupin company for a night, as he was there alone.  
  
But Hermione wasn't a fool. She knew exactly why Dumbledore wanted them to go to dinner there, and told Sirius so when they were alone.  
  
"Poor Dumbledore can't stand seeing us all so pulled-down by your death," she said, as she searched in her closet for some Muggle clothing to wear for dinner, "And so he wants us to go to Grimmauld Place. It's the one place none of us have returned to since you – died. I think he's hoping to give us some closure and absolve our grief." She sighed and turned around to face Sirius. "I don't know if I want to go."  
  
Sirius looked at her, concerned. "Hermione, if you don't go, Harry and Ron definitely won't go either. And you know as well as I do that Harry needs to get over my death." He looked a little saddened. "I wish I could say goodbye to him ... maybe that would help."  
  
"It's hard to be back there, Sirius, knowing you're never coming back, knowing we'll never hear you laugh again ..."  
  
"You'll hear me laugh, won't you?"  
  
"But Harry and Professor Lupin won't, and that's what hurts."  
  
"Listen," he said thoughtfully, "If you really don't feel up to it, tell Dumbledore so. He isn't going to push any of you, you know. But give Harry a chance to deal with this ... and give yourself a chance. I've never known you to be a coward, Hermione."  
  
That was Sirius all over – motivation through insults.  
  
"Oh, you're so exasperating!" Hermione yelled, laughing, flinging the T- shirt she was planning on wearing at him. He caught it, grinning. "All right, I'll go, and I'll drag Harry and Ron with me."  
  
"Who're you talking to, Hermione?"  
  
Both Hermione and Sirius started, and turned to see Parvati standing in the doorway of the dormitory, staring at Hermione with a slightly confused (and slightly worried) expression. Her eyes took in the levitating shirt, which Sirius hastily dropped on the bed.  
  
"Hey, how did you do that?" Parvati asked curiously. "You're not holding your wand; how did you lift the shirt up in the air like that?"  
  
"Magic," Hermione muttered.  
  
"Are you all right, Hermione?"  
  
"I'm fine, thank you."  
  
Parvati nodded, clearly not convinced, and went to her bedside to get a book. Then she left the room, shutting the door behind her, but not before shooting another perplexed look at Hermione. The witch exhaled in relief and grabbed her T-shirt, glaring at Sirius once the door was shut. "Honestly!" she exclaimed. "People are going to start contemplating my sanity when I talk to you!"  
  
"So don't," he suggested, sitting down on the edge of her bed and grinning.  
  
She snorted. "Bit hard when you're constantly talking to me, isn't it? Now, I need to change, so do you think you could either take a walk or turn around?"  
  
"I'll close my eyes," he said, grinning rakishly.  
  
"Like I'd trust you to keep your eyes closed!"  
  
"You're going to have to."  
  
Hermione huffed, her mouth twitching, and watched as Sirius squeezed his eyes shut. She quickly took off her robes and her inner Muggle clothing and donned the jeans and T-shirt she had picked out. She could shower later. Turning, she saw that Sirius's eyes were still closed. Apparently, he *was* trustworthy.  
  
"I'm not a hormonal teenager, you know," he grinned, opening his eyes.  
  
Hermione demanded indignantly: "What are you implying?"  
  
"Are you ready for dinner?"  
  
"Yes, I am."  
  
"Funny ... I always thought girls took longer to get ready."  
  
"Once again, what are you implying?"  
  
Sirius laughed, shaking his head. "Have many people implied that you're not fully female? I wasn't, you know. Listen, Hermione, I hope you're being careful. I'm not exactly around you twenty four hours a day."  
  
"I think I'm quite safe from Voldemort in the shower, thank you."  
  
"Don't be so sure."  
  
"*Oh*!" Hermione gasped and flung her robes at him, before laughing as she collected up her wand and slipped it into the pocket of her jeans. "Sirius, you're the most perverted-minded human – ghost!"  
  
Aggravating man that he was, he just laughed.  
  
***  
  
They went to Grimmauld Place by Knight Bus, and arrived there at nine o' clock to find that a certain Nymphadora Tonks was cooking. Ron immediately wanted to leave, as he had no faith in Tonks' cooking at all. But Hermione shoved him forcibly into the dining-room, and tried not to think about the familiar table and its seating arrangements, knowing that Sirius would not sit down with them again ...  
  
Beside her, Hermione heard Harry sigh and she squeezed his shoulder. He shrugged off the sympathy, typically, but she could see that he was glad she was there with him. Professor Lupin came out of one of the inner rooms, looking tired but younger than he had been the last time they'd seen them.  
  
And he was smiling.  
  
"How you've all grown!" he joked, smiling around at them all. "It's good to see you again. I hope you've all eaten and come, or else you might find yourself suffering from indigestion in here."  
  
"I heard that!" Tonks yelled from the kitchen.  
  
Laughing, they went to their places to sit down. There was a commotion as a tankard of Butterbeer came ricocheting out of the kitchen, helped along by those masters of chaos, Fred and George. Hermione ducked, and the tankard trundled to a halt on the table, some of the Butterbeer sloshing over the sides.  
  
"Thank Merlin that Mum isn't here!" Ron bellowed at his brothers.  
  
Fred grinned. "Oh, we have, Ronnie, I assure you, we have."  
  
They settled themselves properly around the table, and Hermione helped Tonks bring in the rest of the food, as Remus sternly forbade Fred and George from assisting anybody further. Soon, they were able to start eating surprisingly edible food. There were seven of them around the large table – Harry, Ron, Hermione, Fred, George, Tonks and Remus. There was an empty seat in which Mrs. Weasley was supposed to sit, but as she hadn't come, it was empty and Sirius sat down there, eyeing the table with a mixture of languid humour and nostalgic sadness.  
  
To only Hermione, it looked as if everyone who should be there, was there. She blinked back tears and concentrated on Fred and George's jokes. She wondered whether the empty place had been symbolically kept for Sirius, and that Mrs. Weasley hadn't been supposed to come at all.  
  
"You know, I was talking to my mother today," Tonks was saying cheerfully, "And she and I were discussing new hair colours and styles – and you know what? Unlike most people, she actually said that mottled-green is the best- suiting colour for my hair, in spikes."  
  
They all stared at Tonks, speechless. *Mottled-green*?  
  
Finally, Ron managed: "Uh – Tonks? Are you absolutely *sure* your mother said 'mottled-green'? It couldn't have been – uh – 'bottled-spleen'? Oh crap, that's not much better, is it? Oh, dear."  
  
"She didn't say it. I tried the colour out on my had and she judged it to be the best of the lot, so I thought – "  
  
"But you can't!"  
  
"Shut up, Ron," Fred said good-naturedly. "Tonks, if your mother says so, I suggest you listen to her!"  
  
"Excuse me," Sirius burst into laughter, "But Andromeda is colour-blind!"  
  
Hermione stared at him in astonishment and then started to giggle helplessly. Everybody turned to stare at her, utterly bemused. Tonks ventured to ask whether it was the colour that struck Hermione as funny. Chortling, the girl managed to regain enough control over her voice to say, "Your mother can't tell the difference between colours, Tonks."  
  
"WHAT?"  
  
"She's – she's – c-colour-b-blind!"  
  
"Blimey!" gasped the Metamorphmagus, "She never told me so!"  
  
"Bet she doesn't know herself," Sirius muttered.  
  
Hermione shot him a reproving look, annoyed that he was making her laugh when she shouldn't be doing so around unaware people. "Do you think you could cut the smart comments for a little while?"  
  
"But I didn't make any," George protested, who was sitting nearest to Sirius.  
  
"Not you, George."  
  
"Then who?"  
  
"I suggest you don't answer that," Sirius said, smiling.  
  
Hermione buried her face in her food.  
  
"Has anybody heard any news about Voldemort's latest plans?" Harry eventually asked, after he had exchanged concerned looks with Ron as to Hermione's unusual behaviour.  
  
Ron groaned. "Oh come on, Harry, can't we talk about anything else for one night?"  
  
"Actually," Remus said slowly, exchanging a worried look with Tonks and then glancing almost surreptitiously at Hermione, "We have gotten wind of Voldemort's latest – well, not *plan* – but a sort of – desire."  
  
"He's after something else now?" Fred inquired, looking up from his food.  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Do you know what it is?"  
  
Remus and Tonks once again exchanged that worried look, and Harry frowned. "Professor Lupin, I need to know. You've got to tell me what this 'new desire' is ...?"  
  
"That might not be a good idea, Harry."  
  
"Why wouldn't it?"  
  
"You won't like it," Tonks said, glancing at Hermione again. She looked a little upset. "None of us like it – Dumbledore, Remus, McGonagall or me. Even Mundungus Fletcher was rather upset by it."  
  
Fred put down his fork and he and George said in unison: "Now we *have* to know what this is."  
  
"No," Remus said firmly, "Not yet anyway."  
  
There was an outcry:  
  
"Spit it out right away!" bellowed George.  
  
"I need to know," said Harry.  
  
"You *can't* keep this from us!" Ron wailed.  
  
Remus surveyed them all with a slightly weary expression. "I can and I will. For the benefit of some people, it's best that Voldemort's new desire is not revealed right now. Once we're certain that the danger is at our doorstep, we'll tell you."  
  
"Aren't you curious at all?" Ron demanded of Hermione, who had been silent the whole time.  
  
Hermione was looked at Remus. "If you're trying to protect me from hearing this, Professor Lupin," she said slowly and almost sadly, "I can assure you, you don't have to bother. I already know Voldemort is after me this time, and I'm quite capable of handling that information without any hysterics."  
  
"He wants *Hermione*?" Harry barked.  
  
Tonks and Remus were staring at her. "How did you know that?"  
  
Hermione faltered, suddenly realizing her mistake. "How – how did I know that?" she squeaked. "Oh, I – I went and – uh – I was able to – uh – find out in the library, you know – I was – "  
  
"Idiot," Sirius said.  
  
"Excuse me," she said indignantly, "Like you've never said stupid things in *your* lifetime!"  
  
"You just topped the list," he said dryly, looking around the table.  
  
Hermione closed her eyes, cursing silently, and then ventured to look around at the others as well. As she'd expected, there was extreme worry, confusion and astonishment on their faces. Fred tapped his forehead significantly. Harry looked concerned, Ron baffled.  
  
"Who were you just talking to?" Ron floundered.  
  
"Imaginary friend."  
  
"Imaginary – SINCE WHEN DO YOU – THE SMART, NO-NONSENSE ONE – HAVE AN IMAGINARY FRIEND??!" He hollered, so loud the plates rattled.  
  
"I do have an imagination beneath my no-nonsense exterior, Ron. How can you say something like that about him? Of course he exists. His name is Bruno," Hermione said swiftly, "He likes to be a smart-alec, so I sternly reprimand him when he goes too far."  
  
Sirius was doubled over with laughter; the living people were speechless.  
  
After dinner, Remus asked Hermione if she would like to see a new collection of vampire fangs he had gathered together. They went into the next room, and Sirius ambled after them. As Hermione had expected, there were no vampire fangs.  
  
"Hermione, are you all right?"  
  
"I'm fine, Professor Lupin," she said, smiling, "It was a bit of a shock to know that Voldemort was after me – and please don't ask me how I found out – but I'm all right now. I'll be careful, you know. I always am, after all."  
  
"I didn't just mean about Voldemort, Hermione. I like you very much, so I do worry about you. You didn't seem yourself tonight. You were slightly distracted and you seemed to be – well – you seemed to be talking to an invisible somebody. *Was* there someone under an invisibility cloak in the room?"  
  
"No," Hermione said fervently, "I promise."  
  
"But then who – ?"  
  
"Bruno."  
  
"I'm afraid I don't believe that, Hermione," Remus smiled. "Tell me the truth, please. I would like to know."  
  
Hermione sighed and looked at Sirius. He nodded. "Peter never once said I wasn't allowed to let a few other, trustworthy people know that I'm here, even if they can't see or hear me. Go ahead, tell him."  
  
"It's Sirius."  
  
Remus stared. "S-Sirius? Sirius Black?"  
  
"The one and only."  
  
"But – he's dead, Hermione!" Remus said, his voice catching.  
  
"Yes, but he's been sent back." Quickly, Hermione explained the entire situation to Remus, with some added inputs from Sirius. It took nearly ten minutes to explain it all, and by the end of it, Remus looked floored, worried and utterly unconvinced.  
  
"Hermione ... I think you might be hallucinating."  
  
"I thought so too, but he's really here, searching for redemption."  
  
"And his task is to protect you?"  
  
"That's how I found out about Voldemort, Professor."  
  
"I don't believe it. It isn't possible!"  
  
"You're going to have to prove it, Sirius," Hermione said to the Animagus.  
  
He looked at Remus with a brotherly affection in his eyes and thought hard. How to convince Remus Lupin, the most logical and practical of all the Marauders, that the dead spirit of his best friend had returned to the earthly domain? And then he got it. "Hermione," he said, smiling slightly, "Tell him this ..."  
  
"Uh – Professor Lupin," Hermione said to the bemused werewolf, "Sirius wants me to tell you that when you were fifteen years old, you had a crush on a Ravenclaw named Penelope Possum, and that you asked her to the annual ball. Apparently, she turned you down, telling him she liked boys with better health – because you were frequently in the hospital wing on full moon nights."  
  
Lupin stared in utter astonishment, his eyes widening with a mixture of wild hope, hurt and intense incredulity. "But – "  
  
"I couldn't have known that, could I, Professor?"  
  
"Only Sirius knew. I was too ashamed to tell anybody else about any of it, even my having a crush on her. Not even James knew."  
  
"Exactly, and he just told me."  
  
"Hermione, it can't be possible. Perhaps he told you before he died ...?"  
  
"That's nice," Sirius huffed, rolling his eyes, "Hermione, tell him that he's a bloody idiot. Tell him that he made me promise to take his secret to the grave, and that I never break my promises."  
  
Hermione dutifully repeated this. "Technically," she said, smiling, "He's kept his promise because he has gone beyond the grave now, and the promise really doesn't hold. I won't tell anyone, though." She added gently: "I was shocked too, Professor Lupin, but he's really here. He's standing right beside you, looking at you and shaking his head. He's telling you to get it into your thick skull – sorry, Professor."  
  
"Dear Merlin," Remus whispered, turning his head slightly. His voice was choked with emotion as he stammered: "S-Sirius? Padfoot?"  
  
"Right here, Moony. I'd hug you, only I'm slightly intangible to everyone but Hermione."  
  
Hermione relayed this to the stunned werewolf. Struck by a sudden idea, she went to the other end of the room and fished around in a box, coming up triumphantly with a piece of chalk and a chalkboard. Grinning, she said, "I don't know if it'll work, because he isn't really a ghost, but since Sirius can touch inanimate things, maybe he could write his messages to you on the board, and you can reply verbally."  
  
"Good idea," Sirius said, taking the chalkboard and putting it down on the nearest table. He took the chalk and scribbled 'Can you see this?' on the board. The white letters appeared as if by magic.  
  
Remus gasped.  
  
"I think we've confirmed that," Hermione said happily, "I'll leave you two to catch up and say what you like to each other." Smiling, she left the room and went in search of Harry. She couldn't tell him without Sirius's permission, but perhaps she could hint at it and make him feel a little better.  
  
As she walked, Hermione felt a sudden odd tingle. She had realized (upon being able to guess what people were thinking easily) that it was as if being 'fused' with Sirius made her more perceptive to auras and ethereal signals.  
  
And at that moment, Hermione felt a very strong sense that something terrible was about to happen.  
  
**  
  
TBC.  
  
**  
  
*  
  
A/N: I've gotten some reviews in which people have mentioned religion. I'd just like everyone to know that I'm *not* intermingling Harry Potter with religion. I'm just using the concepts of heaven and hell to show a fine line between redemption and damnation!  
  
I'll be updating as soon as I can, so keep reviewing! Thanks!  
  
* 


	4. Understanding

  
  
Disclaimer: "Harry Potter" and all other aspects of this fic that you recognize (unless they're from any of my other fics) all belong to J.K. Rowling, and not to me! The lyrics of the song involved in this chapter are from "Until I Find You Again", which belongs to Richard Marx  
  
Summary: A dark force haunts the trio. When the dead come back to life, can you deal with what they might have to tell you? This is a story about loss, damnation, and a dead man's second chance at redemption... 

.

**Road to Redemption**

**.**

Chapter Four: Understanding

.

A shadow moved in the midst of the fires and darkness. There was a shuffling sound, and a very large shape could be distinguished slowly pacing the area. There appeared to be six pinpricks of red light in the upper part of the shape, and a sudden howl pierced the air. It was a howl of frustration, and of utter and undeniable apprehension. The creature was by no means looking forward to what was coming. Knowing his luck, his career (and life, in a manner of speaking) was over.

"Cerberus," said an irritated voice, "How many times must I warn you not to make that infernal racket in my private chambers?"

The three-headed dog, whose red pinpricks were revealed to be three pairs of eyes, jumped and whined in a soft and frightened manner. He looked up as Lord Hades approached him, tall and immaculate, from his silk red-and-black robes to his perfectly shaped goatee. He stammered gruffly: "I – I'm sorry, Sire."

"So I should hope," said Hades silkily.

"S-Sire?"

"Don't play games with me, Cerberus. I gave you a task. You have not brought me results. Do you know what that means? That means I can send you straight to the Mists, in which all those who fail or displease me rot forever. WHERE IS SIRIUS BLACK'S SOUL?"

Cerberus would gladly have sold his soul – if he still had it, of course – to avoid answering that question. But as he stood there, staring back at his master, he realized that there really was no getting away from it. Perhaps the roofs of Hell would crumble, he thought hopefully. An avalanche? An earthquake? A volcano? A tornado? A new and exciting soul that would seize the master's attention? _Anything_ ... he scowled bitterly with all three of his faces, around the place. Rumbles and earthquakes and volcanoes were so wretchedly common here that Hades wouldn't pay attention to it anyway.

"Cerberus ..." Hades whispered in a deceptively soft voice, "I'm waiting."

The three-headed dog scrunched up his three faces and braced himself for his punishment. "Sirius B-Black's s-soul is on – on E-Earth, Sire," he mumbled, trying not to look at the master, "The Elders in Heaven offered him a chance at redemption."

"_WHAT_?" bellowed Hades, and the entire Underworld shook violently.

"He took up their offer," Cerberus said, now quickly as if to get it over with faster, "And they gave him a task. My – my spies reveal that he has been given the task of protecting some girl from a Dark Lord – yes, the same one who caught your attention, Sire – and if he succeeds in protecting her, he will earn his rightful entrance to the Golden Gates."

For a long moment, there was terrible silence in the Underworld. Then –

"ARE YOU TELLING ME," screamed Hades with such fury that the fires roared and doubled around them, "THAT PETER HAS SENT A SOUL THAT BELONGS TO ME BACK TO EARTH – AND THAT I MAY JUST LOSE THAT SOUL?"

"Y-yes, Sire." Cerberus prepared for a blast into the Mists.

But nothing happened.

"I see," said Hades coldly. "But I will not lose Black's soul. Not only will I never accept defeat against the Golden Gaters, but that soul is far too rare and full of possible dark potential to lose! Think of that wonderfully imaginative way he slashed the portrait in that school's tower! And the way he recklessly broke the law and escaped from prison – the first ever to do it. Such potential ..." Hades happy smile faded, and a dangerous gleam came into his eyes. "There is only one option, isn't there, Cerberus? I'm giving _you_ a chance to redeem yourself now. It is now _your_ task to _make sure_ Sirius Black fails at the task Peter gave him. HE MUST FAIL – or else."

Cerberus stared at his master. He was full of relief to have escaped punishment, torture and the Mists, but Hades was undoubtedly mad! To interfere in the affairs of the Golden Gaters – to sabotage an important task – to show himself on Earth – yes, Hades was undoubtedly insane ...

"Need I remind you, Cerberus," said Hades in a dangerous voice, "That I have always been able to read your mind."

"I-I beg pardon, Sire," Cerberus's third head flinched while the other two looked contrite and ashamed of themselves. He hesitated, not sure what to do. Could Hades have really been serious about what he wanted done? Surely not ...

"Go, Cerberus," Hades barked at him, "Don't waste my time."

Nearly crying, Cerberus trotted towards the door. The Golden Gaters would destroy him for interfering in their matters. But if he didn't, Hades would destroy him. And Hades was infinitely more cruel ... besides, where did his loyalties lie? He whimpered and had just reached the door when the warning, dangerous voice stopped him:

"And remember, Cerberus ... I will not accept failure."

. . .

Rubbing his watery eyes weakly, Wormtail crept into his room and looked around

It was dingy and dirty and utterly depressing ... but he had to make do with it. He thought about the Burrow, where he had spent twelve years, and his weak face scrunched up in disgust. Good riddance, he thought. He crawled into his bed, gingerly laying his metal hand down in a good position. Such power ... and more was to come once the Dark Lord won ...

He was almost asleep, drifting into sweet dreams in which he saw himself at the Dark Lord's right-hand man, ruling over the wizarding world with an iron fist (literally, he thought with a delighted, rat-like smile) and terrorizing the pathetic little Muggles. They would have no hope once do- gooders like Albus Dumbledore, Harry Potter and all of their friends were dead and out of the way! Wormtail was relishing the thought of his future, and of tasting his future in his dreams.

But it wasn't meant to be.

There was a crunching noise in his room, and Wormtail bolted upright, uttering a squeak of fear. He nearly screamed out loud when he saw the shape of a dog ...

"S-Sirius?" he moaned. "No ... you're dead ..."

Then there was a flash of light, and the entire room was illuminated. Wormtail saw a far more frightening sight than Padfoot, the big black dog. He saw a much larger dog, with vicious teeth and vindictive eyes – _THREE_ SETS OF VICIOUS TEETH AND VINDICTIVE EYES!!!!

"AAAAHHHH!" Wormtail screamed, and went on screaming.

Nobody came.

"You can go on screaming," barked the three-headed dog irritably, its voice gruff and echoing (although the echo could be attributed to the fact that all three heads were speaking). "No one can hear you. I've made myself visible to you for a reason."

"AAAAAHHHH!"

"You have a master ... I have a master," the dog went on, as if Wormtail was not screaming at the same time, "I'm here to help you. By helping you, you will gain favour with your master. And when you do that, and your master acts on my information, I will gain favour with MY master. Is that simple enough for your pitiful little brain to understand?"

Wormtail stopped screaming. He stared at the dog, his eyes watering, sniffing pathetically. He cocked his head to one side, his ears lifting like a rat's. Could this be true? Could this spectral dog really help him at all? Could it?

"Tell me," he whispered.

The dog rolled all six of its eyes. "I know of your master's latest desire."

"How?"

"I know everything," said the dog irritably, "The point is: I know what he wants and I can help you help him to get it. I can give you two names that will be very important. You deal with those two people, and your path is that much clearer to your target."

Wormtail leaned forward greedily: "What are the two names?"

The dog told him – and was gone.

Wormtail stayed where he was for a long time. Had he been dreaming? Was he going mad? No ... he had a feeling it had been real. The entire experience had been real. That _dog_ ...

And then he began to smile.

. . .

Sirius and Lupin were having a rather unusual conversation, incidentally in Professor McGonagall's office. She had given it to Lupin's request to use the room for a little while and was now in the staff room with Hermione, whom she had asked to speak to in private. Hermione was sitting in one of the uncomfortable staff's chairs, feeling out-of-place. She could just picture the expression on Snape's face if he was to walk in now.

"Miss Granger," said Professor McGonagall in a surprisingly gentle voice, "I have been informed that Remus Lupin and Nymphadora Tonks have revealed You-Know-Who's latest – whim. At dinner in Grimmauld Place, I hear?" As Hermione nodded mutely, Professor McGonagall went on to say, "I can, of course, understand that you must be frightened, Miss Granger ... but I must ask you to remain calm and strong in the face of danger. You have excellent people keeping a close eye on you. There is a possibility that you might have a guard while outside Hogwarts, like Mr Potter does." She suddenly smiled. "I hardly think you could ask for more devoted protectors than Misters Potter and Weasley."

Hermione smiled. "Don't worry, Professor," she said, "I'm not going to panic."

"You've been a cool head and a strong shoulder to lean on in times of crisis before, Miss Granger," said McGonagall, "Professor Dumbledore and I both commend you for it. I know it's asking a great deal of you, but I must ask you to remain so. Particularly since – since Sirius Black's death – things have been rather difficult for all of us. You have borne your own worries and the grief of others admirably. Please continue doing so."

"Of course I will," Hermione said, surprised that the professor should even ask her such a thing. She felt a moment's pang of indignation. It was always Harry that they worried about. Not that she blamed them, but surely they could spare a moment's thought for the others involved in all of this. Even now, although she would have done so anyway, she was being asked to stay strong and calm for Harry's sake. She sometimes wondered sadly if any of them really cared about the lowly people like Ron and herself. No wonder St. Peter had thought she needed extra protection in the form of a dead man! Clearly, she wasn't going to get too much of it from the living people.

If V-Voldemort does manage to find me and capture me, she thought savagely, Then they'll all regret it.- She was instantly mortified and ashamed at her selfishness. For pity's sake, Harry needed her, especially after losing his godfather! Harry was V-Voldemort's main target! Of _course_ they had to worry about him.

"You take care of yourself, Miss Granger," Professor McGonagall said when Hermione was leaving the staff room. "And perhaps you could be so kind as to find out from Mr Lupin next door, if he's finished using my office."

Hermione cracked a smile and went across the corridor to the next room, which was McGonagall's office. She knocked lightly on the door. Lupin's face appeared in the crack as he opened it. He smiled when he saw Hermione, and let her in. Sirius, she could see, was sitting on the edge of McGonagall's desk with a small chalkboard in his hand and a grim frown across his brow. He looked up at her and grinned. She rolled her eyes, and turned to Lupin.

"Professor McGonagall wants to know if you're done," said Hermione.

"Yes, I think we are," Remus nodded, and glanced in the direction of the desk for confirmation.

"Just about."

"He agrees," Hermione said dryly.

Remus laughed. Over the past two days, since dinner at Grimmauld Place, the shadows had lifted right out of his eyes and the lines of worry seemed to have faded to very few. Hermione could only smile as she saw the effect having his best friend back was having on him, but she could only want to cry as she thought about Harry.

Sirius brought the topic up much later. It was a little before dusk, and Hermione was sitting by the edge of the lake. Naturally, due to his obligation to protect her, Sirius had rather reluctantly followed.

"You'd think that someone whose being is in danger would be willing to stay indoors," he said grumpily.

Hermione smiled. "I've grown to like solitude."

"I wanted to stay where I could see Harry."

"Harry's in no danger while he's here at Hogwarts," she assured him.

"It's not that," Sirius muttered, frowning, "I want to _see_ him – just see him."

At that, Hermione turned her head from where she was watching the giant squid at play, and surveyed Sirius with a mixture of compassion and hesitancy. "Listen to me, Sirius," she said at last, gently, "You've got to understand that it's dangerous for you to grow attached again. Eventually – " her voice broke, but she quickly regrouped herself, "Eventually you've got to go back, and it'll be a wrench for you to leave all over again if you don't start getting used to being without Harry. In fact, it'll be far worse than falling into the Veil, because there you didn't know you were about to – to die."

Could he tell, that it hurt for her to talk about it?

"Is that why you haven't yet allowed me to talk to Harry like you did with Remus?" He asked, looking at her closely.

Hermione nodded. "No matter how happy it may make him to talk to you again, Sirius, it'll break his heart all over again when you have to leave. He's just beginning to get over losing you the way he did. If he gets you back now – briefly – it'll destroy him again to lose you all over again. Can't you see why I don't think it's a good idea?"

"I suppose so," Sirius said grudgingly. He stared out across the water, and muttered: "I wish I'd been given a task to protect Harry ..."

Hermione flinched, and immediately tried to conceal it, but he caught the look.

He looked genuinely remorseful. "Damn it. Hermione, I'm sorry – I didn't mean that. I mean – you _know_ what I meant when I said that. Of course I'm glad that I'm supposed to watch over you. It means I know that someone reliable is – " he grinned, "I didn't mean – "

"You don't have to explain, Sirius, I understand," she said, forcing a smile.

"But why did you let me talk to Remus and let him know I was here, and you won't do the same with Harry?"

"Professor Lupin," Hermione said loftily, "Is an adult and has far fewer volatile emotions. He is not teetering between a breakdown and sanity, I assure you."

"It's just that I wish – "

"Listen," Hermione said quietly, "I don't think you realize what it's been for many of the others to lose you the way they did. I've been watching it for three months ... I don't know how to explain it." Her brow furrowed in thought as she grasped at a way to make Sirius see just what life had been like for Harry, Lupin and all the others who had cared. Then she thought of something: "There's this Muggle song," she explained, "Its lyrics are worth listening to. Don't expect me to sing them, but I can tell you what they are – I used to love the song:

_'Lately, I've been trying  
  
To fill up my days since you're gone.  
  
The speed of love is blinding,  
  
And I didn't know how to hold on.  
  
My mind won't clear.  
  
I'm out of tears.  
  
My heart's got no room left inside.  
  
How many dreams will end?  
  
How long can I pretend?  
  
How many times will love pass me by,  
  
Until I find you again?'_

- Forget about lines like 'the speed of love is blinding' and 'how many times will love pass me by'," Hermione added hastily, smiling slightly, "It's essentially a love song, but some of those lyrics really do explain things. Don't you see, Sirius? That's what it's been like for them – especially Harry. It's as if all the light and feeling has been sucked away, and there's no room left inside for anything. The way you d-died – it was so sudden that it doesn't seem real, even now. It's as if they're all holding on to this hope that you'll be back ... it's like they're waiting ..." Her voice had become a little more than a whisper, and her eyes were oddly bright as they fixed on the shimmering ripples of the lake. "It's like they're waiting for you to come back."

She paused, sighing softly, and then added: "That's why I'm afraid to let Harry know you're here. He'd feel that his wait was not in vain and that his dream has come true ... and then when you go, he'll be shattered all over again and he'll start hoping and waiting again. And I don't think I can let him go through that again. He – and the others – are just beginning to realize that – " she looked at him directly in the eye "– That there's more to life than Sirius Black."

Sirius was neither angry nor hurt to hear her last words; he was not so arrogant as to assume the world revolved around him. On the contrary, he was rather amused. Hermione had always been the one to make him see his faults. She had called him reckless, a fool, an idiot, selfish and Merlin knew what else! To his face! She'd been the harshest of all ... and the most honest.

Because he was all of those things and more.

But predominantly, at that moment, he was thinking hard. Hermione saw the understanding cross his handsome features and registered a moment's satisfaction that at least he now knew why. Instead of commenting on it, however, his words were unexpected:

"What about you? Do the words of those songs apply to you as well?"

Hermione stared at him. "Well, I won't deny that I've missed you – possibly as much as Ron has," she said cautiously, "But as for spending my life waiting for you to come back ... I think that would be taking it a little too far."

Which, she realized with a flash of horror, was a lie.

She _had_, unconsciously, been waiting for him to come back. Not just for Harry's sake or for any of the others, but for herself as well.

This, she realized furiously, was not good. The man was _dead_, for pity's sake! He was dead, he was reckless, he was a Marauder and a rule-breaker and most certainly not the kind of man a person like her could have a crush on. Hadn't she always told herself that? Yet all that effort seemed to have amounted to nothing, because her latest revelation shattered her illusions.

"What are you staring at?" she demanded, realizing he was still looking at her.

"The bee hovering near your ear," Sirius replied sarcastically.

"There's no need to be clever. Perhaps I should phrase the question differently, so that your limited intellectual capacity can comprehend it: _Why_ are you staring at me with that intent and mind-reading sort of look?"

Sirius burst out laughing. "You amuse me."

"Thrilled to hear it," Hermione said tartly.

"Do you hate me?"

"_Hate_ you?" Hermione blinked, startled out of humour.

"Yes ... do you hate me? No, don't interrupt. I remember a time in Grimmauld Place, a little before you, Harry and Ron left to start your fifth-year. I'd been behaving awfully – grouchy, moody, depressed – because you were all leaving, Harry was leaving, and I'd have no one. I was on my way to ask Harry something when I heard the three of you inside the room, talking. Harry was telling you that he felt rather guilty for being excited about going back to school, when I had nothing to look forward to. You told him, very angrily (and rightly) that he shouldn't worry about me, that I was just being selfish." Hermione opened her mouth again, but Sirius stopped her by clapping a hand over her mouth. "Believe it or not, you made me realize that I _had _been behaving selfishly. You could always do that. But that was when I first started to wonder whether you hated me ... for making Harry worry, for hurting Harry, for just being me, Sirius Black ...?"

Hermione stared at him for a long moment, and was about to speak when she was cut off by the sounds of running footsteps and loud voices calling her name. She and Sirius both turned, and saw Harry and Ron racing down the hillside towards her. As they drew nearer, she saw expressions of distress and concern on their faces.

"What is it?" she asked at once, as Sirius looked at Harry worriedly, "What's happened?"

"Ambush near Diagon Alley," Ron gasped.

"What?"

"Emmeline Vance, Mundungus Fletcher and Tonks were ambushed," Harry explained, panting hard but capable of coherence, "Vance – Vance was killed; Dumbledore's furious and upset – he says she wasn't young and fit enough to fight off the hexes for long. Dung and Tonks have been captured. There's no sign of any of them."

Hermione stared at her two best friends in horror. How could it be possible? Three obscure, secret members of the Order of the Phoenix were ambushed, killed and captured? She couldn't believe it ... she shot a look of fear at Sirius.

It was strange, but whenever she felt the need for help or reassurance, she'd always turned to him.

"Why them?" Sirius demanded, looking at her.

"Why those three, Harry?" Hermione asked, frowning.

They hesitated, looking at each other with mingled despair and apprehension. Then Ron sank down onto the nearest rock, and Harry said quietly: "Vance, Dung and Tonks were the three people Dumbledore assigned as your Guard."

.

TBC.

.

A/N: I'm terribly sorry for how long this chapter has taken to be uploaded, but there have been so many things to do that things have been utterly crazy! Anyway, please review this chapter and I promise I'll get the rest of the story up as soon as I finish each chapter. Thanks ...


	5. Voice of Madness

__   
  
Disclaimer: "Harry Potter" and all other aspects of this fic that you recognize (unless they're from any of my other fics) all belong to J.K. Rowling, and not to me!  
  
Summary: A dark force haunts the trio. When the dead come back to life, can you deal with what they might have to tell you? This is a story about loss, damnation, and a dead man's second chance at redemption ...  
  
.  
  
**Road to Redemption**  
  
Chapter Five: Voice of Madness  
  
.  
  
"This is ridiculous," Harry spat angrily, pacing Professor Dumbledore's office up and down and glowering at just about everything in the room (which was a great deal), "Everything is just going crazy. First you tell me that Voldemort – " (a number of people in the room winced) "– is after Hermione. Then Professor Dumbledore assigns Tonks, Dung and Emmeline Vance to be Hermione's guard. _Then_, out of the blue, we discover that all _those three_ have been ambushed by Voldemort's Deaths Eaters – and that two of them have been captured and one of them have been killed!" His eyes darkened, and he said sadly: "I just don't get it. I'm at a complete loss."  
  
"Yeah," said Ron, nodding emphatically and looking bewildered, "I mean – what in Merlin's name does You-Know-Who see in _Hermione_?"  
  
"Thank you, Ron," said Hermione acidly.  
  
There were a surprisingly large number of people in Dumbledore's office. These included Dumbledore himself, Professor McGonagall, Professor Snape, Remus Lupin, Harry, Ron, Hermione, Fawkes, and – unseen by all except for Hermione – Sirius.  
  
"You all do see the difficulties here," Professor Dumbledore said in his quiet, compelling voice, "The Order of the Phoenix members are all extremely busy. Nymphadora, Emmeline and Mundungus were the only reliable – " (Snape snorted at the idea of Mundungus being reliable) "– the only reliable members I could spare to act as Hermione's guard. By some curious coincidence, those three were attacked. This means Hermione has no guard."  
  
"She's got me, doesn't she?" Sirius said indignantly.  
  
Hermione smiled to herself. She thought Sirius must be enjoying himself, being able to say just what he liked and to whom, without having to fear the consequences. Wait till he meets Mrs. Weasley, she thought.  
  
"I think the bigger problem," she spoke up quietly, making everyone look at her, "Is not that I have no guard. I'm sure I'm perfectly safe at Hogwarts with Harry and Ron and all the Professors, so I hardly think anyone needs to worry about me. I think our _real _problem is finding out how on earth V- Voldemort managed to discover the identities of three important Order of the Phoenix members, and how he knew that they were forming my guard. You can't deny that it isn't coincidence that those three were attacked, and poor Mrs. Vance killed! Somehow, V-Voldemort knew who my guard was and got them out of the way."  
  
"Of course, that is very disturbing, Miss Granger," said Dumbledore, his blue eyes twinkling slightly at her, and he smiled, "I must compliment you on your fortitude. Indeed, I am going to look into the circumstances resulting in Voldemort's acquisition of this important information. In the mean time, I agree that you will be perfectly safe at Hogwarts. As long as you're careful, Hermione – and I know you always are – there should be nothing to worry about."  
  
"But – "  
  
"As for you, Harry," Dumbledore said, turning to him, "I want you to follow Hermione's example. I don't want you leaving the castle without good reason and without permission. In fact, I don't want you out of the castle at all – Hogsmeade weekends are, of course, excluded in that. Do not forget that you're in a great deal of danger as well."  
  
Harry frowned, and his jaw tightened. Hermione looked at him. She knew Harry hadn't fully forgiven Dumbledore for being a small part of the reason Sirius was dead.  
  
"People don't like being locked up," his voice was barely audible.  
  
Dumbledore's expression flickered. Hermione reached out and squeezed Harry's hand. "Don't," she said softly. "You know you can't. Besides, you and I can keep each other company in the castle." He smiled faintly at her.  
  
"Potter," said Snape in a cold, sneering voice, "I think people have been lenient with you for long enough. Although personally I disagree, people have obviously felt you deserve some grieving allowance after – what happened last year – but I think unwarranted rudeness is pushing the limit a little too far."  
  
"Stay out of it, Severus," Lupin said in a pleasant voice.  
  
"That's asking too much, Remus, you know he can't restrain himself," Sirius growled, glaring savagely at Snape, and with distinct pleasure.  
  
Ron was looking around the room, his eyes rather wide. He looked at Hermione, and she smiled slightly in reassurance. She closed her eyes for a moment, barely listening as Dumbledore went on to discuss some new updates in Order work, and made plans for certain things. Although there had been plenty of trouble before Sirius's death, it had been far worse since he had died. It was as if a great rift had been wedged between everyone, and particularly between Harry and everyone else. Blame rested upon many shoulders in the view of many eyes. The ideals and loyalties of the Order had been put to sleep when Sirius had died. There was suspicion, hostility, pain, lack of forgiveness ...  
  
She had heard the note of faint regret in Snape's tone. Although he might have hated Sirius (and probably still did), there was no denying that he regretted those bitter words he had uttered in the kitchen of Grimmauld Place. Sometimes, she blamed him a little, too. If he hadn't ...  
  
If Harry hadn't ...  
  
If Dumbledore hadn't ...  
  
If _Hermione_ hadn't ...  
  
Yes, she was to blame as well and she knew it. A man was dead, partly because she had been the fool to take Harry out into the Forbidden Forest. If she'd stayed in the castle, or if she'd exerted more control over Harry's impulsive decision, she would have either run into Snape who would have told them Sirius was fine, or they would have stalled for enough time before Snape arrived at the Forest and told them that Sirius was fine.  
  
The thing was, she had been just as worried and frightened as Harry had been. A part of her had wanted to go looking for Sirius, whom they believed was hurt, possibly dying ...  
  
She looked up at Sirius at that moment, and saw that he was looking right back at her.  
  
"What's the matter?" he asked her, frowning.  
  
Hermione just shook her head, unable to speak. Even if she could have spoken, it would have been stupid to do so with Harry right next to her and a room full of people around her. Only Lupin would understand, and he could hardly defend her sanity.  
  
But Sirius didn't look convinced.  
  
"And that," Dumbledore said calmly, "Rounds up our meeting, I think. Rest assured that I will find out the truth behind the attack on the three members of my Order. But for now, I suggest all of you – especially you three – " he said to Harry, Ron and Hermione, smiling slightly, "– I suggest you enjoy your school days for the rest of this month, until Halloween."  
  
. . .  
  
That weekend was – and there was no other word for it – fun. Seemingly ashamed for his brief outburst in Dumbledore's office, Harry made more of an effort to be tolerant, and Hermione saw that he was genuinely having a good time (as good a time as was possible under the circumstances). On Saturday evening, long after everyone else had gone to bed, Hermione sat in the common-room with Harry and Ron. Sirius was leaning against the table beside their squashy seats, and watching them with a grin.  
  
They started out just talking: reminiscing over times they had had over the past six years, laughing at such incidents like the Halloween troll; the forming of the DA; seeing the look on Percy's face when he found Ron in a girl's bathroom (Percy, Ron told them with relish, had come grovelling to Mr and Mrs. Weasley after the discovery of Harry and Dumbledore's honesty had been proven); Hermione sprouting cat's hair all over her face when her Polyjuice Potion went wrong; meeting Gilderoy Lockhart in St. Mungo's Hospital; remembering all the stunts that the students of Hogwarts pulled to torment and get rid of Umbridge ... after all this time, Harry was even able to laugh at the terrible detention she had given him, and they happily tried to picture a scene in which they would pay a friendly visit on Dolores Umbridge and take her to see a stud farm.  
  
"Where the sounds of horses' hooves will be rampant," chuckled Hermione, her eyes twinkling.  
  
"I've never been to a stud farm," Ron sighed wistfully.  
  
"Neither have I," said Sirius.  
  
Hermione smiled. "I'll take you both someday; my uncle owns one." Fortunately, they assumed she was referring to Harry and Ron, else the sentence would have sounded distinctly odd.  
  
"Listen, guys," Harry said suddenly, straightening up in his armchair, "Want to call ghosts?"  
  
Hermione stopped, and stared at him.  
  
"_Ghosts_?" said Ron, wrinkling his brow. "I don't see why you want to. If you yell loud enough, Nick or Peeves might hear you, but I fail to see what reason there could possibly be for calling them at such a time. I mean – "  
  
"This is a Muggle game, Ron," Harry laughed, but his green eyes had a strangely hopeful look in them, and Hermione's sharp eyes didn't miss this. "You use a thing call an Ouija board, and you attempt to call upon ghosts from the spirit realm and you try to see if they're willing to communicate with you. Often they give you interesting messages. Of course, people don't believe it really works ..." He proceeded to explain how the game worked.  
  
Ron appeared excited. "Cool! Let's try it."  
  
"I'll get the board," Harry said.  
  
Hermione cleared her throat. Harry added: "Actually, Ron, my leg doesn't feel so good after I fell off my broomstick today. Do you think you could go and get it for me? It's in the smaller section of my trunk. You shouldn't have a problem finding it."  
  
Ron went off obligingly, and Harry turned to Hermione.  
  
"You bought a board?" she asked quietly.  
  
Sirius was staring at them.  
  
"Well – yeah," Harry admitted a little awkwardly. There was a flash of sadness in his eyes. "I was trying to see if I could – you know – reach – reach _them_. That is," he added, clearing his throat, "My mum, dad and Sirius, too. But I don't think it worked. Of course, that may be because I was alone when I tried it out. It was in the beginning of the holidays, when I was stuck in Privet Drive again. If we do it together – all three of us, it might just – I mean, I know you don't really choose your spirits, but if we open up those channel things, then surely Mum or Dad or Sirius will finish the connection?"  
  
"Why are you doing this to yourself, Harry?" she asked gently. "They – they're dead."  
  
"We're having a good time here. I just thought it would be good to have Sirius here as well ... to complete the circle, you know. Like we used to. Back when we rescued him from Dementors and in our fourth year here."  
  
Hermione turned her head slightly. Sirius had come closer, and he was looking at Harry with a pained expression on his face. This was not good – for any of them.  
  
But she didn't have the heart to tell Harry so ...  
  
Ron reappeared at that moment with the Ouija board tucked under his arm. He was looking extremely eager to play this Muggle game, and Hermione knew she couldn't ruin their enjoyment with caution and warnings. She sighed and prepared to play, as they put a small table in the middle of their three armchairs, and placed the board on it. Sirius eyed the board with interest, and commented that it looked like something his cousin Andromeda used to play with. They took out the pointer and placed it on the board, and positioned all three of their fingers as well. The letters of the board seemed to glow in the eerie firelight of the common-room. Hermione felt a sudden shiver pass down her spine. Would this actually work, she wondered. What if it did? She stifled a shudder and looked across at Harry, who pointed his wand at the fireplace and put it out. Then he lit a candle.  
  
"Why the candle?" asked Ron.  
  
"Shhh!" said Hermione.  
  
"If a spirit is present," said Harry, "The candle will go out."  
  
"So what happens now?" asked Sirius curiously.  
  
"Hush!" Hermione said.  
  
"But I didn't say anything," protested Ron.  
  
She bit her lip. "You were breathing too loudly," she said coolly, "Silence is rather important with these sorts of things. Right, Harry?"  
  
"Uh – yeah."  
  
"Hate to say it," commented Sirius, amused, "But you're making the most noise here."  
  
Hermione forced herself not to reply. At last, the silence required for such a game fell over them. Hermione peeped through one open eye and saw Harry's face turned towards the board, eyes closed, an intent expression of hope on his face. Ron looked both excited and dubious. Sirius was eyeing the board and the three of them. He caught her look, and winked. She smiled, and closed her open eye again. Then they waited.  
  
They waited.  
  
They waited ...  
  
They waited ...  
  
And then the candle went out.  
  
Their eyes flew open, immediately sensing the darkness around them. Only starlight from the crack between the curtains at the window illuminated the room. Nobody reached for their wands. Their fingers were frozen in place and their eyes fixed on the dark candle. A sudden frisson of tension shot through them.  
  
"There – there was no wind," Ron stammered.  
  
Harry looked like death itself, he was so pale. "Someone's here ..."  
  
The words jolted Hermione back to a sense of herself. She raised her eyes and looked accusingly at the shadow of Sirius standing beside her chair, and raised her eyebrows. He shrugged, and she wondered if he had put out the candle or not. Then, to her horror, he reached forward towards the pointer.  
  
"No, Sirius!" she hissed softly.  
  
"What?" Harry asked, turning his head, puzzled.  
  
"Not serious," Hermione fibbed, "This cannot be serious, cannot really be happening! This game isn't supposed to work, for pity's sake!"  
  
And then the pointer moved.  
  
Ron lunged for the parchment he had been told to bring and took out his quill. The pointer darted from letter to letter, while Harry stared at the board, transfixed, and Hermione crossed her arms over her chest in annoyance. How dare he! Then the pointer paused, and Sirius looked inquiringly at Ron, who was staring at the parchment in his hand as if he couldn't believe what he had just written.  
  
"What was it?" Harry demanded.  
  
Ron croaked out: "HARRY – THIS IS SIRIUS."  
  
"Oh my God," Harry whispered, his eyes lighting up.  
  
"Oh my God," wailed Ron, clearly petrified.  
  
"Oh my God," groaned Hermione, exasperated and despairing.  
  
The pointer started moving again, and Ron started reading out the messages each time it paused. Hermione could see the intent, determined look on Sirius's face as he moved the pointer.  
  
Clearly, this was his only way of communication and he was going to be damned if he didn't use it: I CAN'T STAY LONG. WANT YOU TO KNOW THAT I LOVE YOU. YOUR PARENTS LOVE YOU. WE WAITING FOR YOU BUT YOUR TIME NOT COMING FOR A LONG TIME YET. WANT YOU TO BE HAPPY. YOU NEED TO KNOW THAT YOU NOT ALONE. RON AND HERMIONE. WE WILL ALWAYS BE HERE WHEN YOU NEED US. YOU NEED TO LIVE. NOT LIVE IN THE PAST. LIVE FOR TODAY.  
  
Ron's voice was nearly hysterical by the time he reached the end of this lengthy message. "Spirits!" he wailed, "Ghosts! Sirius! This is just not normal."  
  
"Sirius!" Harry called desperately, looking wildly around the room. Hermione sensed his desperate need and elation, and wanted to kill Sirius. What on earth was going to happen when the 'connection' was broken and Sirius was gone? "Sirius, are you there? Please ... talk to me. I need to talk to you! You know that mirror you gave me? I didn't use it, but I have it! Can't you talk to me through the mirror?"  
  
"Harry," Sirius said, his voice choked, "I can't talk to you, but you have to remember that I'll always be there to watch over you. I'm always here."  
  
Hermione said softly: "He says he can't talk to you – he's dead and doesn't have the power – but he wants you to remember that he and your parents will always be watching over you and that he's always here, right beside you."  
  
Harry stared at her. "How – how do you know?"  
  
"I suppose I've got more talent at Divination than I ever knew," she replied.  
  
Sirius smirked.  
  
"Don't you dare laugh," she said, her temper reaching breaking point. She couldn't yell at Harry, because he didn't deserve it, but Sirius was a lunatic – a selfish lunatic, and he deserved to be boiled in frog liver. "You have absolutely no right to laugh. I thought I told you what it would do to him to hope again, and then to lose all over again! But of course, you were only thinking of yourself and what you wanted. How dare you just do that?"  
  
"Now you listen to me – " he began angrily.  
  
"I WON'T LISTEN TO YOU!" she screamed, and stood up. She caught the looks of utter shock and concern on Harry and Ron's faces and knew they thought she was mad. But she didn't care. "I'm sorry, Harry," she said, "But this was a bad idea."  
  
She picked up her wand and ran towards the stairs leading up the girls' dormitories. Sirius furiously came after her, yelling at the top of his voice as he did so. Hermione was so angry and so eager to get away from everything that she tripped over the top step. She slipped and fell down the stairs. Sirius's angry expression changed in a flash to fear, and he bolted upwards to try and catch her before she broke her neck. As he did so, her wand flew into the air and sliced through the air with an eerie orange light as it did so. The orange streak gaped into a large, swirling hole. Hermione, falling down the stairs, fell right into it – and Sirius, flying towards her, checked his pace too late and stumbled right into it from the opposite side. The wand fell in last.  
  
Then the light faded, and was gone.  
  
And so were they.  
  
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TBC.  
  
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A/N: Aha, a cliff-hanger! Can anyone guess where this is leading? You'll find out soon, but I want a few opinions and guesses first, so please review! Chapter Six will be coming soon ... 


	6. In the Black Beyond

  
  
Disclaimer: "Harry Potter" and all other aspects of this fic that you recognize (unless they're from any of my other fics) all belong to J.K. Rowling, and not to me! The storyline and the ideas involved in this story, however, do belong to me!  
  
Summary: A dark force haunts the trio. When the dead come back to life, can you deal with what they might have to tell you? This is a story about loss, damnation, and a dead man's second chance at redemption ...  
  
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**Road to Redemption  
**  
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Chapter Six: In the Black Beyond  
  
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Sirius was unaware of how to describe his previous sensation. It was as if he had been spinning and been flung through a liquid-like space. Hermione felt the same way, utterly dazed and completely bewildered about what was happening.  
  
But now they both knew for a fact that they were falling. The liquid feeling was gone. Sirius came streaking out of the sky, managed to catch a glimpse of stars and moonlight twinkling in a black, velvet expanse above (and this told his mind that it was still night-time), and he landed with a colossal thud on uneven terrain: rock, damp grass and insects. He gasped, trying to regain his breath and was just about to push himself up with his hands when Hermione landed on top of him, her elbow connecting with his shoulder, and her shoulder ramming hard into his chest so that he fell right back onto the ground beneath him. Needless to say, he was not happy.  
  
"Ouch," he groaned, when he managed to find the breath to form words. His ribs hurt.  
  
Hermione rolled off of him. "Sorry."  
  
"Oh, no problem," Sirius said sarcastically, "After all, dead men don't feel any aches and pains!"  
  
She sat up and looked around. Lower down on the sloping land was the shimmering, moonlight-reflecting surface of a lake. Around her was familiar territory. She was utterly baffled and picked up her wand, lying on the ground beside her, and stared at it in perplexity.  
  
"This is Hogwarts ground," she said to Sirius, forgetting that she was supposed to be angry with him, "We're near the lake – look! But ..." she hesitated, frowning as she looked around, "It looks rather different, this area. Rather more ... overgrown and just ... different. But I don't understand – how did we get here? From the common-room stairs to this area?" She rubbed her head, and stared at her wand again, wondering. "This is strange."  
  
"What kind of spell did you cast?" He demanded.  
  
"I didn't," she protested, "I fell down the stairs and my wand sliced through the air, I think. But I don't see how we've done this. I mean – magical transportation? I've never heard or read of this form of doing it. And you can't Apparate or Disapparate – "  
  
"In Hogwarts grounds, I know," Sirius finished for her.  
  
She suddenly smiled. "You're probably the first who does," she said dryly.  
  
He climbed lightly to his feet and stretched out a hand to help her up. He was looking around him in some confusion, and didn't release her hand. Hermione glanced down, and didn't let go either. "You're right," said Sirius thoughtfully, "Things do look rather different. Come on: we'd better get back to the castle. Look at the moon. You know how to read time from the position of the sun and the moon, don't you?" He sounded baffled. "Well, the position of the moon tells me that it's not more than nine o' clock ... but that's not possible ... when we left the common-room, it was two in the morning!"  
  
"Oh, Merlin," Hermione gasped, "It's true! Have – have we come back a few hours in time somehow?"  
  
"There's only one way to find out," said Sirius grimly, "We've got to go back into the castle and make sure you don't let anyone see that you've come in from the grounds. You're not supposed to be wandering about after dark."  
  
"Right," Hermione huffed, and started making her way up towards the castle.  
  
Sirius followed.  
  
It took them ten minutes.  
  
As Hermione walked in through the castle entrance, with the unseen Sirius walking along beside her, she saw at once that something wasn't right. The first thing she saw were the hour-glasses depicting House Points. Last she remembered, Ravenclaw was in the lead, with Gryffindor and Slytherin tied in second, and Hufflepuff last. But the hour-glasses in front of her showed that Gryffindor was in third place, Slytherin in second, and Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw tied in first. The number of points for each House, furthermore, was at least a hundred points below the levels Hermione remembered. She stared, her mouth falling open. But when she, Harry and Ron had walked past this area at about half past nine this evening, these had not been the House totals.  
  
That could only mean one thing ... they had not come back a few hours. They had come back a few days, a few weeks, a few months ... she gulped ... perhaps a few _years_. "Oh, Sirius," she whispered, "I don't know what we've done! Look at the hour-glasses; the containers themselves are different. We've come back in time much more than a few hours. In fact, I've never seen hour- glasses quite like this in any of my years."  
  
"Neither have I," said Sirius decisively, "That means we're neither in your time at Hogwarts nor in mine. Perhaps we're somewhere between? But the real issue now is: you've got to hide. You can't show up here, a stranger from the future."  
  
"I'm going to get into _so_ much trouble," Hermione moaned, "How did this happen?"  
  
Sirius eyed her with a mixture of amusement and exasperation. "Getting into trouble is hardly your concern right now, my dear Hermione," he said firmly, gripping her by the shoulders, "So stop thinking about that and figure out a way to hide yourself instead. Pity we don't have Harry's Invisibility Cloak anywhere with us. That's a real pity, in fact. It's useful."  
  
"Can you do the Disillusionment Charm?" Hermione asked Sirius, her brains working again, "You're a fully-grown, powerful wizard. It's the camouflage one ... you can do it, can't you?" She looked at him hopefully, at a loss for any other idea.  
  
He nodded, sighed and took the wand from her. For a moment, he wondered if he could do magic. After all, he was dead. But as he waved Hermione's wand, he saw that he could indeed still work magic. How eerie and odd, he thought. If someone was to enter the Entrance Hall now, they would see a wand working magic by itself! Smiling to himself, he tapped Hermione hard (particularly hard – she had just crippled him out in the grounds) on the head and watched as the Charm worked. Hermione looked down at herself, registered that she felt extremely weird, and took her wand back. There had been no need to hit her so very hard, she thought.  
  
"There ... you're all set," Sirius said. "I do wonder what St. Peter will think when he can no longer locate me on the plain of earth he sent me back to."  
  
"I wonder what Harry and Ron will think," said Hermione wryly.  
  
"They won't."  
  
Unable to repress a giggle, Hermione managed to shoot Sirius a reproving stare before she made her way towards the Great Hall, from which sounds of loud conversation and laughter echoed. As she reached the doorway, she caught sight of the glowing pumpkins and black bats fluttering, and glowing ceiling sky. It looked like the specific time they had come back to was Halloween. As she looked around, she saw that almost all the faces at the various tables were unfamiliar. Certainly not either Sirius's or her time. But there were some familiar faces ...  
  
Professor Dumbledore was in his usual Headmaster's chair – strangely enough, looking rather tired and older than Hermione had ever seen him. What worry was preying on his mind at this time? Professor McGonagall was at his right hand, and looking rather drawn as well. There was no sign of Hagrid, but Snape was in his usual chair. Hermione squinted at him. He looked older from the distance she was standing at, across the Hall. A sudden pang of alarm struck her. She was beginning to notice a pattern here ... she looked at the faces at the teachers' table – Professor Sprout, Professor Flitwick, Madam Hooch, Professor Trelawney, all looking like they had somehow aged a good few years. There was no sign of Firenze the Centaur ... Hermione's eyes moved to the last member at the table – the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor.  
  
Impossible, she thought incredulously, staring at the untidy black hair, the tired expression, the green eyes and familiar spectacles ...  
  
"Sirius," she whispered, "It – it's _Harry_."  
  
His eyes widened. They started to move between the Gryffindor and Ravenclaw tables, staring fixedly at the young man sitting in at the staff table. Yes, it was Harry. Harry Potter was a professor. Hermione saw that he looked much older than he had last time she had seen him. He was, at the very least, thirty years old! It was unbelievable.  
  
"So," Sirius said, his voice oddly constrained and full of amazement, "We haven't travelled back in time. We've somehow wound up in the _future_. Merlin's beard."  
  
"But – but how?"  
  
"Who cares about that," shrugged Sirius, still staring at Harry with a kind of proud wonder, "Clearly your wand cast an accidental sort of spell." He grinned suddenly. "That's my boy, Harry! He made it. He must've won the war – and he's the Man Who Lived now."  
  
"Yes, perhaps he has won the war and he survived," Hermione said, smiling, and then sighed, "But we don't know who didn't."  
  
Sirius's expression darkened. "Good point. We can find out."  
  
"What?" Hermione grabbed his arm. "How?"  
  
"Ask Harry."  
  
Hermione stared at him in disbelief, and then slowly, an idea sank in. Why not, she thought. They had somehow gotten here, fifteen years into the future or thereabouts ... so why not find out the reality of history from Harry? Her conscience pricked at her. They weren't supposed to interfere or mess with time. The consequences could be devastating ...  
  
But something else – a compulsion – was stronger than her conscience. She wanted to know. And there was a strange sixth sense inside her and told her she and Sirius had come forward for a reason ... and that it was important that they find out what had happened during the war.  
  
"All right," she said, "We'll ask him."  
  
Sirius looked startled. "Uh – are you sure about that, Hermione?"  
  
"Very," Hermione said smoothly, smiling.  
  
"Good girl."  
  
She had to keep her voice very low, so that none of the students at the Gryffindor or Ravenclaw tables could hear her speak. She was under Disillusionment, but by no means silenced from other ears like Sirius was. She looked around. "So we wait here," she said quietly, "Until Harry leaves. Then we follow him. Hopefully, he'll go to his private office or something."  
  
"Sounds like a good plan to me."  
  
And so they waited. Hermione looked around her. If they were in the future, she thought with a flicker of interest and excitement, there was a good chance ... she stopped short, staring at the Slytherin table. A redheaded boy with a very familiar manner and cut of features ...  
  
"Malfoy," she said dryly.  
  
"What?" Sirius turned around, looking.  
  
"That's Draco Malfoy's son; I'd stake my life on it."  
  
Sirius cleared his throat, sounding amused but there was a hint of disgust in his tone: "He's got a very distinctive shade of red hair ..."  
  
"Oh, my!" Hermione gasped. "_GINNY_?!"  
  
"Looks like it ... couldn't have been any of the boys, could it? And I highly doubt Molly ..." the thought seemed to cause Sirius a great deal of amusement. "So ... Ginny Weasley and Draco Malfoy. Can't say much for her taste."  
  
"He's just like his father," Hermione said with distaste.  
  
Hermione looked away from Malfoy Jr. and tried not to contemplate what could have happened that had brought Ginny together with Malfoy, whom Ginny had always hated. There's a fine line between hate and love, Hermione thought with a flicker of humour. Well, who would have thought it! She continued to look around, spotted a girl who looked so much like Luna Lovegood that it was almost uncanny. A great shock came in the form of a second-year boy with startlingly green eyes, an animated expression on his face, unruly black hair and a thin frame. No glasses, however ... Harry had a son? Who was his mother? She was amazed.  
  
However, her greatest astonishment came in the form of a blond-haired girl who nonetheless had plenty of freckles and familiar enough features to make Hermione blink and look again to make sure it wasn't really Ron. So Ron had a daughter ...  
  
"Whose Miss Weasley's mother, do you think?" Hermione asked, smiling.  
  
Sirius stared. "Probably you," he chuckled, but there was an odd note in his voice.  
  
"I think not," Hermione said with conviction.  
  
"You and Ron are SO obvious – "  
  
"I may have had a small crush on Ron at one point," Hermione said wryly, laughing, "But I've grown out of it. And so has he. Whatever jealousy he may have had over Viktor Krum was mere possessiveness over a girl who previously spent little time with anyone but him and Harry. I look at him in the light of a slightly thick-headed brother. You can't take early teenage crushes seriously. No, Ron's found someone else." She was actually enjoying herself. "Isn't this fun? I mean – being here – "  
  
"With me?" asked Sirius, looking directly at her with his rakish grin.  
  
Hermione's heart flopped. "Don't flatter yourself," she smiled.  
  
He might have pursued the topic, but fortunately, the end of the feast arrived at that moment, and the students climbed to their feet and started streaming towards the door, laughing and talking and just plain enjoying themselves. Hermione hurriedly got out of the way – she doubted she was intangible – and caught one shrewd-eyed first-year boy eyeing the spot on which she was standing with some curiosity. She grinned and moved away.  
  
She and Sirius spotted Harry leaving the staff table. He exchanged a word or two with Dumbledore, who was smiling at him about something, and then he started off towards the doors. As Hermione and Sirius unobtrusively went after them, Sirius nudged Hermione in the ribs. She looked in the direction in which he jerked his head and saw a boy getting up from the Gryffindor table and hurrying after Harry. Shrugging, she murmured that it was probably a student wanting to clear a few doubts with his professor. They followed the boy, who followed Harry up to the office that had been Lupin's in Hermione's third-year. Harry had just gone in when the boy reached the door and knocked quietly. Hermione heard Harry's voice – slightly deeper and more mature, but undoubtedly Harry's voice – call out "Come in" – and the boy opened the door. He went in, and Sirius and Hermione slipped in after him before he could close the door. Then the boy shut the door behind them all.  
  
"I thought it might be you, Reed," said Harry, smiling at the boy. Hermione couldn't help noticing how tired he looked. It wasn't the tiredness she knew now – borne of worry. This exhaustion was a weariness of all that he had experienced. There was a hint of sadness beneath his carefree exterior as well. "What can I do for you?"  
  
Hermione and Sirius exchanged a grin. Harry was more like an uncle than a professor.  
  
While 'Reed' asked Harry a question about vampires (Hermione gauged him to be in his fifth year), Hermione studied the boy. He had an innate curiosity and intelligence that showed through in his eager and sparkling eyes – eyes as brown and as warm as chocolate. He was dark-haired, rather handsome, and built on lean but strong lines. Hermione guessed he was probably a Chaser or Keeper on the Quidditch team – he looked athletic, and was no doubt a troublemaker, gauging from the mischief in his eyes. A prankster who liked his classes? Amazing.  
  
She was recalled to the conversation between professor and student by the boy's words: "Thanks a lot, Professor Potter." He was grinning as he said this.  
  
Harry laughed. "Well, damn you too, Reed."  
  
"I couldn't resist, Uncle Harry!"  
  
Hermione shot a surprised look at Sirius. _Uncle Harry_? How odd ... she concentrated on what Harry said: "I suppose I can understand your compulsion to make fun of me at every opportunity, but give a little, would you, Reed?" He chuckled, and ruffled the boy's hair with a look of genuine affection on his face. "You look so much like – "  
  
"My mother? My father?" asked Reed, raising his eyebrows. "People seem equally divided on whom they think I look more like. Personally, I think – "  
  
"Of course you do," smiled Harry, a slightly twisted smile.  
  
Reed looked up at him. "I'm sorry," he said quietly, a strange note of understanding in his voice. "I – I wish I had known – " He shrugged slightly, and then said, "I'd better get to bed, Uncle Harry. I'll see you in class tomorrow, I guess. Goodnight."  
  
"Goodnight, Reed."  
  
The boy left the room, and Harry sank onto the edge of his desk, a strange expression crossing his face.  
  
Hermione and Sirius glanced at each other questioningly.  
  
As they stood still, they saw Harry point his wand at the bureau towards the side of the room and mutter "_Accio Photographs_" – and out of a drawer flew an album of photographs. He opened it, and looked at the first picture, and to Hermione's horror, she saw a single tear slide down Harry's cheek. He whispered softly: "I'm so sorry ..."  
  
Sirius was staring at his godson with a look of pain on his face.  
  
Hermione decided it was time to intervene. She cast a spell on her throat to make her voice sound a little different from its usual pitch and level, and cleared her throat. In the silence of the room, it echoed. Harry looked up, startled, and closed the album. Hermione stared at him, and said softly: "Harry? Harry, can you hear me?"  
  
"What the – ?" He straightened up and lifted his wand higher, his brow furrowing. "Who's there? Show yourself, why don't you?"  
  
"I can't let you see me, Harry, for – for certain reasons," Hermione explained, "But I'm an old friend. I can promise you that I am and I'll prove it if you like. If you want me to remove my invisibility, hand me a hooded robe."  
  
Harry located this article, his wand this pointed, and tossed it into the air. Sirius caught it and handed it over to Hermione, who immediately donned it over her clothes and pulled the hood up low over her head and face. The robes were bulky enough to conceal the outline of her frame, and the hood large and dark. She glanced at Sirius for his opinion, and he flashed her a thumbs-up before taking her wand and removing the Disillusionment Charm.  
  
"Merlin's beard," Harry muttered, startled, staring at her. His wand was pointed straight at her. "Now, tell me who you are. No funny tricks."  
  
"I can't tell you who I am," she replied with a pleading note in her voice, "Please understand that. I'd love to tell you, but that would cause great damage. I assure you, there's nothing to worry about. I'm not here to bring warnings of new evil or anything. It's just a question of time, so please don't ask questions. If you want to assure yourself that I'm indeed an old friend, ask me a question only a very old friend would know if you want."  
  
"This is all very suspicious," said Harry, frowning. "What's my Muggle cousin's name?"  
  
"Dudley Dursley."  
  
"With what incantation did Ron Weasley get rid of a troll's club in my first year?"  
  
"_Wingardium Leviosa_."  
  
"What is my son's name?"  
  
Hermione sighed, and looked helplessly at Sirius. "Now would an old friend really know that?" she asked with a hint of indignation. "Sirius?"  
  
"That's his middle name."  
  
"James?"  
  
Harry lowered his wand. "All right, you've proven yourself. But as to that last question, shrewd guess. I couldn't resist asking that. Yes, his name is James Sirius Potter." He grinned slightly, and moved the album on his desk to the side so that he could sit on the edge of his desk again. He indicated a chair opposite and Hermione sat down. Sirius leaned against the backrest of her chair. "Now, can you tell me why you're here and what you want from me?"  
  
"I came to ask you some questions. There are things I need to know about the past ten or so years, that I don't know at the moment. It's nothing to worry about ... it's just you could say I've missed a great deal. Call it amnesia if you will. I'm a friend, Harry," she repeated, to reassure him.  
  
"I don't know why, but I trust you," Harry sighed, and looked at her closely. "All right. What do you want to know? My history's out in the open anyway," he added with a hint of bitterness. "What did you want to ask me?"  
  
"Did he kill Voldemort?" Sirius asked at once.  
  
Hermione repeated this.  
  
Harry smiled, looking a little surprised. "I'm surprised you don't know that. Yes," he said quietly with a bit of hardness in his voice, "I killed him – about a year after I graduated from Hogwarts."  
  
"How old are you, Harry?"  
  
He laughed. "I was thirty-two this July."  
  
_Sixteen years into the future_ ... Hermione exchanged amazed looks with Sirius.  
  
"Who is James's mother, by the way?"  
  
"Before we got married, she was Parvati Patil."  
  
Sirius gaped. Hermione uttered delightedly: "I should have known at the Yule Ball!"  
  
"You were there?" Harry asked curiously.  
  
"Uh – in a manner of speaking, yes," Hermione said hastily, smiling slightly, "James looks just like you, by the way. He even inherited his grandmother's eyes. Before I get to the history, there are actually a few more children-matters that need clearing up. James is cleared. Did Ginny Weasley really marry Draco Malfoy, Harry?"  
  
Harry smirked. "They were married for about a year. He claimed to have renounced the Dark Arts, and put Ginny under a strange love spell to get inside information from the Order. This was after Voldemort was killed – some of the Death Eaters were still out loose back then. They had a son – just like his father, don't you think – and then Ginny broke out of the spell and realized he was a traitor. Draco was killed by one of the Order members in a violent duel," he explained, shaking his head, "And Ginny raised their son as best she could. He'll grow out of his arrogance, I think. But he's a Slytherin, which is rather disturbing. Good thing his grandfather's dead."  
  
"And Ron's daughter?"  
  
"Which one?" asked Harry, smiling.  
  
Sirius burst out laughing. "Ron's been busy, hasn't he?"  
  
"He has more than one daughter?" Hermione asked incredulously, shooting a repressive look at Sirius, who was unfortunately irrepressible.  
  
Harry laughed. "He has twins. They're not identical, of course. One looks just her mother – that would be Molly, who is in Ravenclaw." His tone changed slightly, subtly. "Hermione Weasley is in Gryffindor. Both girls have their mother's blond hair. Ron married, of course, Luna Lovegood." At Hermione's gasp (and although unknown to him, Sirius's shout of laughter), he grinned and said, "Yeah, it came as a shock to me as well when it happened."  
  
Hermione was rather flattered that Ron should name one of his girls after me.  
  
"Any other children you're curious about?" Harry asked, clearly more at ease and in a mood to talk some more now.  
  
Sirius nodded. "Yeah, ask him about the one who called him 'Uncle Harry' – Reed?"  
  
"The boy who was just here," Hermione said, "He had dark hair, good build, good-looking, brown eyes – he called you Uncle Harry and I think you called him Reed? Who is he? Clearly, he's not just a student to you, of course."  
  
"No ... no, he isn't," Harry admitted, his eyes darkening for the first time. "He's my godson."  
  
"Good grief!" Hermione gasped. "Really?"  
  
Harry smiled slightly. "Well, of course really. It feels strange, of course. I've got a godfather, yet now I have a godson. And a son, of course ... it makes me responsible and makes me control my temper and volatility more – something I was never able to do." Instead of a joking note being in his voice, there was only a sad regret. Hermione stared at him. Then he looked up, blinking sharply and said: "Yeah, that's my Reed ... Hermione's son."  
  
Sirius nearly fell over.  
  
Hermione stared in shock. In the future, she had a son? That intelligent, handsome, mischievous, clever boy was her son? Her mind began to spin. It was unbelievable ...  
  
"Hermione Granger?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"So – so Hermione's married to Reed's father?"  
  
Harry looked up, startled. Then his expression softened, and he shook his head. "No, of course not. I keep forgetting that you don't know any of this. I mean – you didn't even know Voldemort was dead – has been dead for years, in fact. So of course it makes sense that you don't know this." His voice broke, and then he said in a fiercely controlled whisper: "Hermione died thirteen years ago."  
  
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TBC.  
  
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A/N: Chapter Six up and Chapter Seven coming up soon! Did this chapter come as a shock? Please review an let me know what you think of how the story is going ... I'm waiting on the edge of my seat, hehe! Anyway, I hope you guys are enjoying the story and I'll update as soon as I can! 


	7. Years Long Past

  
  
Disclaimer: "Harry Potter" and all other aspects of this fic that you recognize (unless they're from any of my other fics) all belong to J.K. Rowling, and not to me! The storyline and the ideas involved in this story, however, do belong to me!  
  
Summary: A dark force haunts the trio. When the dead come back to life, can you deal with what they might have to tell you? This is a story about loss, damnation, and a dead man's second chance at redemption ...  
  
.  
  
.  
  
**Road to Redemption  
**  
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Chapter Seven: Years Long Past  
  
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.  
  
Nausea. That was it; that was the thing that was threatening to overcome her.  
  
Hermione swayed in her armchair, knowing that she had never come closer to fainting in her life. Sirius automatically reached out a hand and steadied her by holding her shoulders gently from beside her, his eyes looking her over – taking in the drained colour of her face underneath the hood, the trembling, small hands, and the wide brown eyes. He was as shocked as she was, and was unable to understand the curious sensation of desolation inside him. Hermione – dead? Destined to die in another three years, speaking from her own time? He was horrified, but he knew he had to stay calm, and he spoke softly and bracingly to her, trying to recall her from the pits of her utter shock.  
  
Sirius's voice somehow – inexplicably – penetrated the shock that had surrounded her and recalled Hermione to a sense of her surroundings. She looked up and saw Harry watching her with a concerned look on his face as well as one of confusion. His hand was reaching out for a full decanter of brandy that lay on his desk. No doubt for such occasions ...  
  
"Are you all right?" Harry asked, frowning.  
  
_I'm just perfect, Harry. After all, I just discovered that I'm going to be DEAD in three years' time!_  
  
Sirius cleared his throat pointedly. Hermione spoke up: "Oh ... yes, I'm quite all right, Harry, thank you." She was amazed at the calm steadiness in her own voice. Her ability to deal with a crisis was quite admirable, if she did say so herself. She explained: "I thought I was just on the verge of an asthma attack. Sorry – I didn't mean to alarm you. So – so Hermione has been dead for thirteen years? I'm very sorry to hear that, Harry," she said gently.  
  
His jaw was tight, his voice constrained as he replied: "Thanks."  
  
"Can you tell me what happened? I know it must be painful to talk about it, but – "  
  
"Do you want to know about Hermione or about the war entirely?" Harry asked brusquely.  
  
"Harry – "  
  
"Don't mollycoddle, Hermione," Sirius warned her, "He doesn't like it."  
  
Hermione rolled her eyes. Harry said, "Look – I might as well tell you what happened. After all, I've talked about it enough to newspapers and to any number of others." He sounded bitter. "But perhaps it's time I told someone the real story. I can't try to forget forever, can I? I've tried – believe me, I've tried to forget Hermione and everything else, and all that happened during the war – but it doesn't work. Even if I don't dream of it, I'm reminded every minute here at Hogwarts – when my students stare at me with a kind of awe – like I'm a _hero_." His teeth gritted together, his green eyes flashed at her. "I'm not a hero. I don't deserve admiration, awe and respect. If I really was, people wouldn't be dead! Damn them all – none of them know the truth! None of them know who I really am. And one of the people who always knew what I really was is dead! She's _dead_!" His voice burst out in fury, and then immediately, he softened and there was a glistening in his eyes. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to shout at you."  
  
"It's not a problem," Hermione said softly, glancing at Sirius. He was staring between Harry and Hermione with pain in his eyes. She knew what he was thinking: if he had been around, perhaps things might have turned out differently. She glared at him. It was no time for him to blame himself ...  
  
Harry stared at her. "Who _are_ you?"  
  
"I can't tell you that, Harry." She frowned. "Why did you just ask me that?"  
  
"For a minute there, you reminded me of – " he broke off and shook his head, staring at the window fixedly. "Never mind. I'm getting fanciful in my old age."  
  
Hermione smiled weakly and said, "Will you tell me, Harry? I don't want to know the gory details. I wouldn't put you through that. I – I just want to know who the casualties were – and – and how they were wounded or how they died."  
  
"Like that's any less painful to talk about," Sirius muttered.  
  
She hit him in the stomach.  
  
He took a step away from her chair.  
  
"Abusive," he murmured wryly.  
  
"The people who died?" Harry asked quietly. "It's a fairly long list. Hagrid died in a battle with some of the giants Voldemort had recruited." His voice was flat, emotionless, empty. "Emmeline Vance died about a year before the main battles began, in an ambush with Death Eaters. Mundungus Fletcher was killed while in capture; a result of the same ambush – we couldn't get to him in time. Terry Boot, Cho Chang, Hannah Abbot, Padma Patil, Seamus Finnigan, Colin and Dennis Creevey – they were all murdered while fighting off Death Eaters when Hogwarts was attacked." (Hermione put a hand up to her mouth in horrified shock, but Harry didn't seem to notice). "Ron was nearly killed in the final battle against Voldemort, but someone got to him in time and got him to St. Mungo's. Neville Longbottom lost the use of one of his eyes when he got hit by a curse. Remus Lupin was tortured to madness with the Cruciatus Curse." (Sirius staggered back, his eyes dark with pain) "Fred Weasley lost his soul during a Dementor attack, Professor McGonagall can no longer walk without her wheelchair ..." Harry's voice trailed off, and he suddenly sounded unbearably tired. "All of that – all of those lives – happened before I managed to kill Voldemort. Now do you see why I'm no hero, and why it's no victory for me?"  
  
"You've still got your friends, Harry," Hermione said quietly, because her voice would have cracked if she'd tried to speak any louder. "You still have Ron and Neville and Parvati and Ginny and Luna and all the other Weasleys, and there's Tonks and Professor Dumbledore. You have your son, your godson, and all your other 'nieces' and 'nephews', don't you? You're not completely alone."  
  
"It's not the same without Hermione," said Harry sharply, banging his fist down on the desk. "IT – JUST – ISN'T – THE – SAME! I should have been able to save her. I should have seen it coming, damn it all! She trusted me – and I failed her."  
  
Hermione's breath caught. "Wh-what do you mean?"  
  
"How did she die?" Sirius demanded with a strange urgency in his voice. He seemed to have forgotten that he couldn't talk to Harry.  
  
Harry answered Hermione's question, which inadvertently answered Sirius's as well: "Hermione didn't die during the actual war. She fought alongside us. It was about eighteen months after I'd killed Voldemort. It was during the last duel we had with the remaining Death Eaters." His eyes took on a dark, haunted look. "She stayed strong for us during the war, but after it got over, something happened ..." He hesitated, expelling a shaky breath, and continued: "On that dark night before the last duel began, Hermione got into a strange state of fear. She said she had seen the Grim in the darkness. We told her it was nothing, not to worry about it. But she stood out by the window, looking through the storm and keeping a watch. Then – suddenly – she started to laugh. It was a high, hysterical laugh ..." Harry's voice took on a faraway, distant note of being in the past.  
  
"And she said 'oh, you've haunted me enough. Tonight, I'll end this'. And before we knew it, she raced out of the house." Harry's voice broke and they heard the sound of a strangled sob before he managed to utter in a hoarse and haunted voice: "By the time we found her in the storm, the last Death Eaters had been waiting for her and she was dead."  
  
As Harry finished his narration, his voice seemed to ring in the air.  
  
Hermione stared at him, transfixed. She couldn't believe she had just heard Harry tell her about her own death. She couldn't believe the pain in Harry's voice. What had happened to her? Had she gone mad? What had driven her to such madness? She, who scoffed at Professor Trelawney, had seen the Grim? She shivered. And hadn't the omen proved itself genuine ... after all, she had died that night.  
  
Died ... she was dead. She no longer existed in this time.  
  
All she had left was three years.  
  
"You can't blame yourself, Harry," she said softly, because he couldn't. How could he have seen her insanity coming? Clearly, her act had been unexpected.  
  
He spun towards her, furious. "Can't I? She _counted _on me to save her ... and I failed!"  
  
"Listen to me – "  
  
"Don't you see? My crimes were far greater than just not being there in time. I'd let her down so many times in all the time I'd known her. I didn't listen to her – and she was always right. I took my anger and my grief out on her, and she just accepted it. I never once realized what I had – until I saw her lying dead in the mud. Maybe I've had the chance to realize and show Ron and the others how much they mean to me, but I was too late for her – "  
  
"Stop it!" Hermione cried, standing up. "Snap out of it, Harry! She doesn't blame you. Wherever she is now," her voice shook, "_She does not blame you_."  
  
"Reed was barely a year old when she died," said Harry, pushing his fist hard into the wood of his desk and staring down at it as if under a distant spell, "Like me, he's never had the chance to know his mother. And like my mother, Hermione never had the chance to watch her son grow up. She'd be proud of him. He's a lot like her, particularly his brains."  
  
"I'm sure she is proud," Hermione said in a choked voice. "And grateful to you for taking care of him for her – "  
  
"I didn't do very much. The credit goes to his father. He – Reed's father – has been my only hope for thirteen years, believe it or not."  
  
Hermione opened her mouth to ask a question, but Harry spoke again, before she could: "Is there anything else you wanted to ask me?" He sounded tired and drained, his green eyes dull and lost in a mist of memory. "If there's nothing, I think I'll go to bed."  
  
She didn't have the heart to keep him back.  
  
"There's nothing else. Thank you, Harry."  
  
"Goodnight then."  
  
Hermione nodded and walked to the door. She left the room, with Sirius following her, and shut the door behind her. She was about to take out her wand, mutter "lumos" and make her way down the corridor, but Sirius caught her arm and jerked his head towards a shadowed set of curtains beside the door. She was too drained of energy to protest, and merely let him push her behind the curtains. They stood in silence for some time, and then she heard a sound that made her look up and blink back tears:  
  
Harry was crying inside his office. They weren't the errant tears of an adult, but the broken, heart-rending sobs of a child. He sounded utterly lost.  
  
Sirius looked shattered.  
  
And then, five minutes later, Harry left his office and walked down the corridor in the opposite direction, towards his bedroom obviously. Sirius moved to the office door as soon as he was gone, and opened it with Hermione's wand. He went in. Hermione numbly followed, and barely registered as he closed and locked the door behind them. She traced a fingertip along the desk.  
  
"There's no chance of us running into anyone in here," Sirius said in the tone of one attempting to make light conversation – and failing.  
  
Hermione didn't answer.  
  
So ... she was dead. It was strange, to think that you were dead and gone forever and that there was no one in the world left who thought of you as anything but a memory.  
  
She was dead!  
  
She had virtually killed herself!  
  
Death ... death was another adventure, wasn't it?  
  
Her mouth twisted in a rather pained smile. Sirius, understanding that she wanted to be alone with her thoughts, settled unobtrusively into an armchair and rested his chin on his linked hands and his elbows on his knees. A dark, brooding look crossed his face. What a dark future lay in store for the survivors from their own time! Hermione was dead, Harry was a broken hero, Reed had no mother but appeared to have a father, Remus was insane, Fred had lost his soul, several of the youngsters from Hermione's year and even younger had been murdered years ago. Sixteen years had passed, and Harry's pain had not eased. Did one ever really get over the loss of someone you loved? Sirius couldn't remember ever getting over James's death. And _he_ was dead too ... another grief for Harry to suffer. He closed his eyes and wished it was possible to change the past without wrecking the balance of time.  
  
And quite suddenly he blinked. Time was complicated. But technically, they were still inhabitants of their _own_ time, which was sixteen years ago. That meant this future had not yet come to pass. And if that was true – which it was – it also meant one other thing ...  
  
Hermione's eyes fell on the album Harry had been looking at. It was still lying on his desk. She reached out with tentative fingers and opened the album. The first page had an inscription in what she recognized as Professor Dumbledore's handwriting: "The Memoirs of a Golden Trio". She smiled, a bittersweet smile. It was strange to know Dumbledore had referred to them as the Golden Trio. She turned the page, and looked at the first photograph, and her heart seemed to ache.  
  
It was a picture of Harry, Ron and herself. They were all about seventeen years old – perhaps very late sixth-years, or summer before seventh-year. Hermione was standing in the middle, shooting disapproving glances at Ron, who was grinning and trying to steal centre stage of a picture, and jabbing him hard in the ribs in her playful exasperation. Harry was standing on her other side with his arms crossed, laughing at the others' antics. Then he turned his head towards the camera taking the picture, and he unmistakably winked – the message clearly being "I can't believe I'm friends with these clowns!" – It looked like a picture of three very close, very happy teenagers. Hermione wondered if, during this brief time, they had actually been happy.  
  
A tear fell onto the page. She wiped it off hastily, and closed the album.  
  
She remembered Harry sitting on the edge of his desk and looking at that same picture. She wondered whether Ron, too, was a broken and wounded man with little vitality in him. She remembered the tear of pure sorrow sliding down Harry's face as he touched the picture and whispered "I'm sorry". He had been asking for _her_ forgiveness – she, who had let herself get killed and caused him more guilt and more pain! What had happened to her, to them?  
  
Something seemed to burst inside her. Hermione felt the album slip out of her hands and thud onto the desk again. Her knees felt weak and wouldn't support her ... she sank to the ground, blinded by hot and terrible tears that coursed down her cheeks and wouldn't stop. She could hear someone sobbing, and did not realize that they were her sobs.  
  
Sirius was neither deaf nor oblivious. He stood up sharply.  
  
Hermione felt his arms around her, trying to quell the shaking of her body and trying to stop her tears.  
  
Strangely enough, Sirius's warm (oddly warm, considering he was dead), tight hold and the soft yet hard feel of a strong chest beneath her aching, tired head was comforting. She clung to him, and sobbed her heart out. He didn't tell her she was being stupid, nor did he laugh at her. He just realized she needed to get it out, and he let her cry. And drained, she finally felt the tears dry and looked up, knowing she looked a sight. She smiled weakly.  
  
"Your shirt is wet," she said apologetically.  
  
He chuckled. "Dead people really don't care about their clothes," he assured her.  
  
Hermione flinched. "Oh, Sirius, don't!"  
  
Sirius paused, and looked at her closely. "Hermione ..."  
  
"Do you remember asking me whether I hate you, Sirius?" she asked, looking up at him suddenly. "I don't think I answered you. I don't hate you. I never have. And you asked me about whether those song lyrics applied to me as well." She sighed. "Yes. Yes, they do. I always had a bit of a crush on you, Sirius. You were a marauder and completely unattainable and just the sort of person I disapproved of – yet I always admired you. You have a certain something no one else has. I was annoyed with myself for having a crush on my best friend's godfather, and so I tried to pinpoint all of your faults. I made my belief that you were selfish and reckless quite public. I guess I thought that if I said it aloud, it would make me realize how utterly unsuitable you were. It didn't work," she shrugged. "All I managed to do was make Harry and Ron think I was insane for disapproving of you."  
  
Sirius, although clearly taken aback by this entire speech, looked at her for a moment and appeared to have halted his mind at one point and stuck himself there: "Unattainable?" he repeated questioningly. "You considered me unattainable?"  
  
"Well, yes – "  
  
"Why?"  
  
"Well, a thirty-four-year-old man could hardly fancy a sixteen-year-old girl, could he?" Hermione said with a matter-of-fact tone, raising her eyebrows. "So naturally, someone my age who had a crush on you would think you unattainab – "  
  
"_Had_ a crush on me?" He eyed her.  
  
Hermione put her hands on her hips. "Do you ever listen to my full sentences?"  
  
"Answer the question."  
  
"Well – I mean – of course, I can't have a crush on a – well – you know, someone who's dead," Hermione said rather apologetically, blushing flaming red and trying to look anywhere but at Sirius who was standing painfully close to her.  
  
Sirius said rather sardonically: "Ah yes, of course ... my greatest flaw is my current stage of the human life cycle. How could I forget that?"  
  
"You – sound angry," Hermione said doubtfully.  
  
"Not with you," he assured her, sighing. "All right. We can't stay here, in this time, forever. I think it's time we tried to leave and get back to our own time. I've got a task to fulfil, and your disappearance will have been noticed by now – and we don't want an outcry of panic, do we? They'll think Voldemort got you when they find you missing."  
  
Hermione appreciated the logic of this, but had a problem: "I don't know how my wand cast that spell," she reminded him rather anxiously.  
  
His brow furrowed. "Well, let's get back to that spot near the lake. Then we'll think of the next step."  
  
He turned and walked out of the room.  
  
Hermione watched him go, and realized that she had lied to him earlier. Sort of. No, she didn't have a crush on him, but her logic about his being dead was completely defied by her new revelation. The realization brought a fresh wave of hopelessness and a greater belief that she could have gone mad in three years' time: somehow, over the past few days, she had fallen in love with Sirius Black.  
  
Who, by the way, was dead.  
  
_I need help.  
_  
.  
  
.  
  
.  
  
Hermione took a minute or two to leave Professor Harry's office (it still felt strange to think of a thirty-two-year-old Harry, and it was downright _impossible_ to think of an adult Ron). Sirius had probably already gone out into the grounds, but she lingered in the office for a moment. She stood looking around at all of Harry's possessions. Foe-Glasses, Dark-Detectors, an extra wand – it was the typical office of a Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. But there was something missing from it that all her teachers had had: the personal touch. Where was Harry's Order of Merlin, First Class (for he must have gotten it), and where were his other awards? Probably all locked away somewhere, in a dusty drawer for fourteen years, Hermione thought sadly. He wanted to forget, didn't he? So why would he keep reminders around of, what in his opinion was not what he had accomplished, but what he had _failed_ to accomplish.  
  
The only indications in the entire office that this room belonged to Harry were the photo album (which wouldn't normally even be out there on his desk) and a single framed photograph that lay on his desk. Hermione walked around the desk to look at the picture. It was one of Sirius and Harry. Both grinned at the camera, although there was a hint of some elusive sadness about both of them. Hermione smiled slightly to herself, and then frowned. Sirius looked a great deal like the spirit Sirius she knew ... when had he cut his hair and taken this picture with Harry? A bizarre thought struck her: had Sirius always had a long-haired _WIG_? She nearly laughed, and felt better.  
  
She left the office, softly closing and locking the door behind her with the simple charm, and started walking down the corridor. She took the route through the Astronomy Tower, suddenly seized by an urge to see Hogwarts as it had become in sixteen years' time. Uneasily aware that she was no longer under the Disillusionment Charm, she walked carefully and in the shadows. Her steps were light and soft, and there was no likelihood of anyone seeing her. Luckily, she didn't run into anyone on the way – not even Filch – she wondered with a mixture of guilt and eagerness if he was dead. She wouldn't grieve if Mrs. Norris was, that was certain!  
  
A minute later, Hermione arrived at the Astronomy Tower. She started up the stairs towards the topmost room from which one could see right across Hogwarts grounds, right up to the lake far beyond the castle. Sirius would be waiting, but she needed to see Hogwarts in its entirety now. After all, she thought rather bitterly, she was never going to get another chance to see it as it was now, would she? Blinking back tears that were not only for herself but for all those she left behind, she reached the topmost room. Just as she was about to enter, a sound made her stop. Someone was already there. She sighed and slipped back into the shadows. She was about to move and turn back down the stairs when a voice spoke in reply to the vague sound she had heard, and she recognized the voice as one she had heard not many minutes ago. Her heart did a strange kind of slip inside her.  
  
It was Reed's voice – her son's voice.  
  
Why the devil had she named him _Reed_, by the way?  
  
"You're not going to believe what happened today," he was saying in a quiet voice, laughing, "James and I – we managed to work on Peeves and win his devotion by our second-year, you remember my telling you this, don't you? – and anyway, we convinced Peeves to cause a little chaos to help us out of a sticky Potions test. Well, he came shooting in with these absurd creatures that I've never seen before – and you should have seen the look on Snape's face." The boy began to laugh, a warm laugh of pure enjoyment. Then, clearly still grinning, he said: "Oh, Mum! Don't look at me like that ... you know you're dying to laugh. Go ahead; I won't tell anyone you laughed."  
  
And then, as Hermione stood stock still in the shadows, utterly frozen with her heart racing, she heard a sound that made her clap a hand to her mouth to stifle a gasp: she heard soft, warm laughter – different from Reed's, but unmistakable: it was _her own laugh_.  
  
"You're dreadful, Reed," Hermione's voice said, giggling.  
  
"I knew you'd find it funny! Dad told me so."  
  
"I'd stake my life on the fact that he hooted with laughter, didn't he?"  
  
"Of course!" Reed chuckled, and then said, "Merlin's beard, Mum, it was utter pandemonium in the dungeons today, and all thanks to Peeves – and indirectly to yours truly and to James. Snape couldn't handle the creatures – I don't think he knew what they were – and they flew at him and started nibbling at his fingers and toes and nose, while James and I collapsed with laughter and some girls screamed in terror. Uncle Harry, Professor McGonagall and Professor Flitwick had to be called in to assist Snape out of his trouble. It was an excellent day. McGonagall and Flitwick yelled at Peeves, but I heard them laughing about it much later. And Uncle Harry! You should have seen him doubled over when those created went for Snape's ears. He told me after the class," he added with a note of pride, "That he had never seen such chaos since the days in his fifth-year, when Fred and George Weasley made Umbridge's life hell."  
  
"I wouldn't be surprised," Hermione's voice said dryly, but there was a smile in it, "You, sweetheart, seem to have a marked talent for causing trouble and getting yourself into it. I wish you had someone like me to keep you in line in your year." She laughed, and added hopefully: "I suppose Ron's daughter Hermione is no good, is she?"  
  
"None at all; she's a daydreamer."  
  
"He chose names wrongly," Hermione said firmly.  
  
The Hermione standing in the shadows suddenly couldn't bear it any longer. Where was her voice coming from? That was her son out in that room, and he was talking to his mother ... a mother whom he clearly cared about. For the first time in her life, she damned the consequences, and walked out into the moonlit room of the Tower.  
  
"You're dreadful, Reed," she said softly.  
  
He turned his head sharply, his eyes widening as he saw her. Slowly, almost absently, he looked from her to the page of a large and heavy old book and he had propped against his knees. Then he shut the book distractedly and stared at her as if he was going mad.  
  
"M-mum?"  
  
"It's me," Hermione said.  
  
He climbed off the ledge he had been sitting on, leaving the book there. "But – but you're d-dead!"  
  
"Yes, I am," she confessed sadly, "But – but I wanted to see you."  
  
"I don't understand," Reed said, staring at her as he drew nearer, his face full of confusion and a kind of elated wonder. Hermione realized with a rush of warmth that he didn't care about his mother: he absolutely adored her. "How – how can you be here, Mum? You – you – and you look just like you do in the pictures, in _the_ portrait, too."  
  
"Listen to me, sweetheart," the words seem to slide off her tongue instinctively. "I can't explain how I've gotten here, but you mustn't ever tell anyone you saw me." Her throat hurt, but she said, "You can't tell Uncle Harry or Uncle Ron or Aunt Ginny – or Daddy. I came here to see you, and I'm only here for you. Things could go very wrong if you tell anyone that you saw me." She smiled. "I know you understand, because you're as clever as I was in school." (He grinned suddenly) "So can you keep this secret for me now, Reed?"  
  
"Of course I can, Mum. I won't tell anyone – not even Dad," he finished regretfully.  
  
Hermione reached out tentatively with her hand. Her son, who was currently no more than a year younger than she was, took her hand. She grasped the warm hand and looked down at it, unable to believe she'd really created him. "I'm so sorry, Reed," she said softly, her eyes tearing, "I'm so sorry I was foolish enough to run out into the storm that night. I'm so sorry I wasn't there to watch you become the handsome boy you have. I'm sorry I wasn't there for you during all those times you needed me. There's nothing I can do now to change that – " her voice caught, but she persevered, "But I want you to know that I love you ... that I'm so proud of you ..."  
  
"Even of my troublemaking talents?" Reed asked with a grin, but there was a strangely hoarse touch in his voice.  
  
She laughed. "Of course! I had a few of those myself – just between you and me."  
  
"Oh, Mum! Everyone knows you had a knack for getting into trouble."  
  
"They do?" Hermione gasped, annoyed that her perfect reputation should have been discovered to not be so perfect after all. Oh well ... she couldn't have expected anything less.  
  
Reed began to laugh at the expression on her face. Hermione stared at him, and realized that the laugh was strangely familiar. Then her son shook his head and said: "You don't have anything to be sorry for, Mum," he said quietly, a jubilant light in his eyes. "You _have _been there for me when I needed you. Right there in the book – " he indicated it.  
  
"What is it?" Hermione asked.  
  
"It's sort of like a painting, you know – the person in it talks to you and interacts. Professor Dumbledore and Dad charmed one of the photographs taken of you after I was born, and made that for me. Dumbledore wanted Dad to have one – but I don't think he could handle it. He and Uncle Harry refuse to remember. They fight not to. He – he still misses you, you know, Mum," Reed said slowly, "He hasn't been the same since that night. Most people wouldn't be able to tell, because he's always been able to hide his pain if he wants to, but I can see it. He blames himself for not being able to save you. So does Uncle Harry."  
  
"You have to tell them that it wasn't their fault, Reed," Hermione said softly, brushing a few stray dark hairs out of Reed's eyes, "Tell them that you dreamt of me, and that I asked you to tell them that I'm very – very happy where I am. Tell them that I miss them, but that I never once blamed them for what happened to me."  
  
"I'll tell them, Mum, don't worry."  
  
"Now ... tell me what those creatures Peeves brought in were," Hermione smiled.  
  
Reed laughed. "I honestly don't have a bloody clue! But Molly from Ravenclaw said that she was sure they were 'Nargles' or some such things."  
  
Hermione thought of the girl who looked just like Luna Lovegood and giggled. "I'm not surprised."  
  
"I've missed you, Mum," Reed said suddenly, reaching out and touching her hair, her cheek, her shoulder – as if to check that she was real, that she was solid. Hermione squeezed his hand tightly, remembering how she had reacted upon seeing Sirius's spirit. "I really have."  
  
"Do – do you remember me? You were only a baby ..."  
  
"It's strange, but I do remember you. Sometimes, when I dream, I can hear you singing and although your voice sounds different when you sing, I know it's you. And sometimes I can smell you as you lean over me and tuck me into the cradle ..." Reed blinked sharply and swallowed. "I – I know you can't stay with me, can you?"  
  
"No," Hermione managed to say, fighting back tears, "I – I'm sorry – I can't."  
  
He nodded. "I understand. Time travel and all."  
  
At her surprised look, he grinned. "What? You said yourself that I'm as clever as you are, Mum! Give me some credit for knowing how things happen."  
  
"You're my son, through and through," Hermione laughed. She tightened her grip on his hand before finally releasing it. "I have to go now, Reed. Don't forget to keep this a secret." She ran a finger down his strong jaw- line. "Take care of your father and Uncle Harry. I'll always be with you, Reed. I love you so much." And it was absolutely true.  
  
He reached out and hugged her. For a moment, mother and son, barely a year apart in age, held each other as if they would never let go. And then Hermione gently disentangled herself and kissed Reed on the cheek. She managed to whisper "I love you" once more before slowly turning and stumbling towards the stairway. She didn't turn back or look at him one last time, because she didn't think she would have the strength to leave if she did. Quickly, she fled down the stairs, fighting back tears and refusing to cry. On her way, she bumped into a tall, handsome figure.  
  
"Sirius!"  
  
"_Hermione, where've you been_?"  
  
"I – I saw Reed," she whispered, choked.  
  
He grabbed her hand. "Hermione, you've got to remember something. I may not be around much longer, so I'm going to tell you now. Even in the darkest fog, there is always a light at the end of the tunnel. There's always hope. You need to remember that." He started hurrying towards the Entrance Hall, pulling her along with him. "Remember that."  
  
"Hope?" she said bitterly. "Hang hope! I've lost you. I lose my son. I lose Harry and Ron and my parents and all the others I've cared about, simply because I was stupid enough to get myself killed by stray, murderous Death Eaters. I'm dead!"  
  
"You'll see me again," he offered in consolation.  
  
She looked at him. "At what price?"  
  
"Listen," Sirius said urgently, "That's just it. You don't have to die."  
  
Hermione froze and stared at him, shocked.  
  
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TBC.  
  
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A/N: Once again, please review, and I'll update as soon as I can! 


	8. To Be or Not to Be?

  
  
Disclaimer: "Harry Potter" and all other aspects of this fic that you recognize (unless they're from any of my other fics) all belong to J.K. Rowling, and not to me! The storyline and the ideas involved in this story, however, do belong to me!  
  
Summary: A dark force haunts the trio. When the dead come back to life, can you deal with what they might have to tell you? This is a story about loss, damnation, and a dead man's second chance at redemption ...  
  
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**Road to Redemption**  
  
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Chapter Eight: To Be or Not to Be  
  
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"I'm sorry," Hermione said in a rather croaky voice, "I don't think I could have heard you quite accurately, Sirius. I think – I thought – I heard you tell me that I don't have to die. Where have you been all this time? Are you blind? Look around you. This world – it doesn't have a Hermione, it doesn't have a Sirius, it doesn't have a sane Lupin, or an intact Fred – I'm dead here, Sirius. Nothing we do can change what occurs in the future, what happens to us."  
  
"I won't deny that it's too late for _me_ to live," Sirius said slowly, "But it isn't too late for you."  
  
"You're touched in the head!"  
  
"I assure you, I'm not."  
  
Hermione glared at him. "Explain, then."  
  
"Later," Sirius said, looking out of the window of the Astronomy Tower, "If you can wait until we get back to our own time and have a chance to talk, I'll explain it all to you. But believe me, there IS hope. Now, we've got to get down towards the lake. It's time to find a way out of here."  
  
Still rather stunned, Hermione followed him.  
  
It must have been three and a half hours since they had gone into the castle. Sirius gauged the time to be about midnight when he looked up at the moon. Hermione's watch, of course, didn't work because it ran on her own time and was now spinning wildly, as befuddled as she was. They stood out in the cold October night, both staring at Hermione's wand as if they hoped it would somehow leap into the air and cast the spell that would take them back to their own time. Hermione felt distinctly ridiculous standing in Hogwarts grounds and staring blankly at her wand. They must have been standing and staring for over five minutes now. Silly sort of thing to do.  
  
"Maybe you've got to fall down stairs, or a slope," Sirius suggested, "And let your wand go flying."  
  
"There are no stairs here," reminded Hermione tartly, "And while you may be willing to go streaking down a space of air, Sirius Black, I have no desire to attempt to break my neck at such a time. I nearly did it once, and got lucky there."  
  
"Lucky?" Sirius raised his eyebrows. "If I remember correctly, I broke your fall – and bore the brunt of the pain involved in our journey."  
  
Hermione smiled slightly. "Well, what _do_ we do?"  
  
"You're supposed to be the bright one."  
  
"I didn't have the skill or brains to become an Animagus, did I?"  
  
"Only because you would have broken the law to do it."  
  
"Oh! Shut up."  
  
They were walking down the slope, still glancing occasionally (and hopefully) at Hermione's wand. At this moment, they reached the spot on which they had originally arrived. Hermione realized with a shock that someone was already here. Clearly a pair of night prowlers. One was half- hidden by the rock and trying to stand up (a drunk student?) while the other was standing on the grass. He turned as Hermione (and the unseen Sirius) approached, and Hermione had no time to hide.  
  
From ten feet away and in the dim light of the moon, she saw a tall and thin boy with untidy black hair, a wand in his hand, and eyes that seemed to reflect light. Hermione frowned, squinting in the shadows. He looked very familiar.  
  
"James?" she said doubtfully, hoping he wouldn't recognize her from pictures.  
  
The boy blinked. "James?" He demanded, and his voice was extremely familiar, "I hardly think – you feeling all right, Hermione?"  
  
Hermione stared, shocked. She and Sirius both said at the same time: "_Harry_?"  
  
"Yeah ... who else?"  
  
Hermione did not bother to expend time and energy in listing the possibilities that he could have been any one of four people: Harry Potter at 16, Harry Potter at 32, James Potter at 16, or James Sirius Potter. She then realized the glint in his eyes were not his eyes but glasses. It couldn't have been Harry's son, because James Jr. didn't have glasses, now, did he? She couldn't help smiling.  
  
She hugged Harry impulsively. "Oh, I'm so glad to see you, Harry!" She looked past him as the half-hidden (drunken) figure stumbled out from behind the rock, into the moonlight. "And Ron! What have you been drinking? No, never mind. What're you both doing here?"  
  
"We came to rescue you, of course," Ron mumbled, brushing leaves off his shirt, "You really do cause plenty of problems, Hermione! Luckily, Dumbledore had more sense than to panic and think the worst when we realizing you were nowhere to be found in the castle."  
  
"What's he talking about?" Hermione asked Harry.  
  
He smiled. "We couldn't come up to the girls' rooms, of course, but after your – ah – strange behaviour during the Ouija board game, we thought we ought to check on you and see if you were all right. Luckily, Ginny came down at that moment and we asked her to fetch you. But she said you weren't in your room or anywhere about. So naturally I started searching while Ron ran for Dumbledore. He asked us when we had last seen you – going to your room – but Parvati and Lavender said you hadn't come up to bed at all, when we woke them up." He shrugged. "Dumbledore did some spell on the stairs – they don't seem to turn into a slide for _him_ – and discovered that you had been launched into time by an accident with your wand. Apparently, Godric Gryffindor was a great time-traveller and created a sort of portal on the stairway of the girls' room that could by accessed by a certain wand movement. So Dumbledore and McGonagall spent about an hour creating an illegal Time Portkey and sent us through time with it, to find you and bring you back, because they suspected even your superior intelligence wouldn't be able to work out this problem."  
  
"They have such faith in you," Sirius grinned at Hermione.  
  
Hermione tried desperately to ignore him while she attempted to sift and understand what Harry had just explained to her. She finally did comprehend the situation, and also noticed that Harry was in the strange mood: he was happier than he had been in recent days, but he also seemed a little torn. As if he was thrilled Sirius had communicated with them through the Ouija board, but at the same time was rather upset to realize that nothing made up for not having his godfather. She knew how he felt: Sirius the spirit was just not the same ...  
  
And Harry's feelings were _exactly_ what Hermione had feared. He was happier, yes, but he wouldn't be for long. Tomorrow or the day-after, he would be crushed and upset again, realizing that nothing was good enough but Sirius Black himself.  
  
She shot the man in question a furious look, and then said, "Well ... I suggest we get going then."  
  
"Hang on," Harry was looking around interestedly, "Why can't Ron and I take a look around this future of ours? It's only fair, isn't it?"  
  
"You can't." Hermione gritted her teeth. "Don't abuse Dumbledore's trust."  
  
Harry huffed. "Dumbledore!"  
  
"I – think we should go, Harry," Ron interrupted tentatively, clearly uneasy at the thought of being in a place where people they knew at present were most likely dead (indeed, he didn't even know if he was around and Ron preferred to remain in the dark about when and where he was going to meet his maker, thank you very much). "There's stuff to do back in our time, anyway."  
  
"Yeah, all right."  
  
Harry took the Portkey out of his inner jacket pocket. It was, Hermione observed, a sock. Harry blinked and started to laugh. "Sorry! This is my Uncle Vernon's." He threw it aside in distaste and pulled out what looked like an ordinary roll of aluminium foil. Hermione, who was still reeling from the smell of Uncle Vernon's sock, eyes the foil suspiciously. Sirius was collapsed with laughter. He just managed to grab a hold of Hermione's shoulder as the three teenagers grasped the foil and counted the seconds down to when the Portkey would whisk them back to their own time. Eight ... seven ... six ... five ... Hermione stifled her despair at leaving her son behind ... four ... three ... two ... this was it, her last chance to take a look around the Hogwarts of the future, for she would never see it again ... one ... zero ... a force grasped her by the navel and yanked her about. The Portkey was working – they were whirling around in space and time and energy, and she was ready to throw up (she was not a fan of rollercoasters, Knight Buses, Portkeys or Floo Powder – her Muggle breeding sometimes really showed through) –  
  
And then it stopped.  
  
They had returned to their own time.  
  
Hermione blinked, and flushed to the roots of her hair as she saw that she was in the empty Gryffindor common-room and that Professors Dumbledore and McGonagall were standing over her and looking down at her like eagles. Hermione finally understood what Sirius must have felt while standing at the Golden Gates.  
  
"H-Hello," she managed weakly, smiling her biggest smile.  
  
"Miss Granger, if I were not more convinced of your intelligence, I would strongly recommend you to St. Mungo's straightaway," said Professor McGonagall, but her eyes betrayed amusement as well as relief at her safe return.  
  
"But Professor, I – "  
  
"No excuses. I would be tempted to take five points from Gryffindor for reckless time-travelling, which indeed would be lenient – "  
  
Hermione noticed, affronted, that Harry and Ron (and Sirius) were doubled over laughing behind Professor McGonagall, clearly desperate to make the most of an exceedingly rare situation. Hermione never got told off and Harry and Ron were innocent bystanders at the same time! They hastily straightened their faces (although Sirius felt no compulsion to do so, aggravating man) when McGonagall turned around, and then Professor Dumbledore spoke up:  
  
"Come now, Minerva," he said, his blue eyes twinkling, "Perhaps you are being a little harsh on Miss Granger. After all, one can hardly blame a student for slipping on the stairs and allowing her wand to perform an unheard-of spell. I have no doubt that Miss Granger was utterly bewildered upon arriving at her destination."  
  
"That's an understatement, Professor," said Hermione fervently.  
  
"We brought her back safely," Ron interjected hopefully, "A rescue mission. Don't you think, Professor McGonagall, that that should warrant five points each for Harry and me – ?"  
  
While this point was being heatedly debated between Harry and Ron, and their Head of House, Professor Dumbledore moved over towards Hermione who had finally managed to climb to her feet and was dusting off her robes. He said quietly: "Whatever you may have seen or known in the future, Miss Granger, you must know that under normal circumstances a Memory Charm is required to be performed so that you don't wreak havoc on the balance of time. But I place great value on your judgment. I want you to think over what you discovered carefully, and then tell me whether you would recommend I perform the Charm. After all, sometimes ... things are changed for the best."  
  
Hermione nodded, her throat tight: "I think you must perform the – "  
  
"No, no, Hermione. Think about it. I shall ask you again."  
  
Dumbledore straightened up, winked slightly, and turned to McGonagall to suggest that their repair to his office for a large brandy. Soon the two teachers had swept away, and Hermione was left with Harry, Ron and Sirius. To avoid being asked about the Ouija board incident, Hermione smiled and said, "So ... has there been any news?"  
  
Sirius was contemplating possible ways to cause some hilarious chaos when he heard a soft musical sound from beside him. He turned and jumped violently: St. Peter himself was standing beside him. His eyes rested thoughtfully, almost gently, on the three teenagers for a long moment and then he turned to the assigned guardian angel. "I know where you've been," he said to Sirius, "And although travelling through time is dangerous and illegal, that negative point has been erased by the positive point you earned by proving your devotion to your charge by protecting her in another realm and ensuring her safe return."  
  
"Oh," said Sirius, extremely relieved. He'd been certain he was going straight to hell when he had seen Peter appear in front of him.  
  
However, the saint looked troubled. "Come with me, Mr Black," he said slowly, "There's trouble brewing in the Underworld, and I'm afraid it may have disastrous consequences. There are several things I must talk to you about now. Your charge will be protected by other angels for the next half an hour while I take you back to the Gates." He extended a hand. "Come along now."  
  
And although he deeply resented being spoken to as if he were a child (and was going to say so at first opportunity), Sirius went with Peter, feeling a distinct sense of foreboding.  
  
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Hermione yawned and ate another marshmallow straight off of the Gryffindor common-room fire, staring at Sirius as he reappeared with a mixture of exhaustion, exasperation and intense curiosity. She also couldn't help noticing (again) just how handsome he really was. She looked at the slightly drawn face and dark-black eyes, darkened by Azkaban, and her gaze moved lower down the sun-bronzed throat to the strong shoulders and chest ... Hermione closed her eyes. Since when did she behave like – well – like a normal teenage girl? She swallowed, and fought to keep her cool about her. "Well?" she asked. "I assume the reason you abandoned me was because there's some heavenly crisis," she winced at her own pun.  
  
"Damned right there is," said Sirius, sitting down opposite her.  
  
"So what did Peter say then? What's the matter?"  
  
"It seems that Cerberus is on the loose. He's Hades' lapdog – literally. Anyway, apparently Hades is really bent on having my soul – " Sirius coughed slightly, and Hermione rolled her eyes – Sirius _would_ be proud of something like that! Then he continued: "And because he wants my soul, he's sent Cerberus off to ensure that he gets it. According to Peter, he can't just snatch my soul off the earth because the power of the Golden Gaters is behind it. But there is one way ..."  
  
"I see," Hermione said quietly, and suddenly, she did: "Hades told Cerberus to make sure you fail your task. That way, you don't get the tipping points and you'll go to Hell. So Cerberus is out to sabotage your attempts to protect me from V-Voldemort."  
  
Sirius smiled crookedly at her. "That's the general idea."  
  
"Oh dear!" she gasped suddenly, almost springing out of her chair in the shock of it: "_That_ was how V-Voldemort knew about Vance, Tonks and Dung! Cerberus must have snuck the information to him, to ensure that my guard is out of the way." Her eyes filled with angry tears. "Oh, the _monster_! A woman died because of him, and Tonks and Dung are in captivity! He's _awful_!"  
  
"That's why he's in hell," Sirius reminded her dryly. "He's a demon."  
  
"And _you_ might end up there! Oh, Sirius."  
  
"Not if I can help it," said Sirius grimly, "Do you think I'm really going to let some multi-headed sorry excuse for a canine sabotage my chances of protecting you from Voldemort? Hah! I'll show him what a real canine is supposed to be like. Git."  
  
"Sirius, what did you mean when you said I don't have to die?"  
  
"Right ... now listen to me," he said seriously, staring intently at her. "Your death is three years into the future. Something to do with hallucinations about seeing the Grim, that you claim has been haunting you, right? Well, it doesn't have to happen. You know about it now. You don't have to make the mistake of leaving the house on the night of the storm in three years' time. It's quite simple."  
  
"I can't do that, Sirius! The balance of time – "  
  
"That doesn't apply, damn it!" His voice was forceful, angry. "You just listen to me. We're in the present now. The _future has not yet happened_. None of that has happened yet. It was only a possible future that would unfold from our predictable actions today. But if you make different choices, you don't have to die, and the future will be different."  
  
"That's still interfering with time," Hermione protested, "I'm supposed to have a Memory Charm done on me so that I don't remember anything I saw or did in the future. It'll cause havoc to time if I play with it by changing things that have happened. I can't do that!"  
  
"Yes, you can!" Sirius growled, "Because it hasn't happened yet. The choices are still open. I'm not going to let you die, damn you."  
  
'_Because it hasn't happened yet_' ... yes, he had a point. She nearly laughed out loud as she realized the dilemma she was facing. Should she do the right thing and have the Memory Charm done on herself, thus die in three years' time? Or should she take the risk, break magical law, and live? To exist or nor to exist ... '_to be or not to be – that is the question_'.  
  
Shakespeare, she thought, had brains.  
  
Hermione stared at Sirius again, and the thoughts about her death and life faded – for a long moment, she just stared at him and tried to sort out how she was feeling. There was hurt, hope, helplessness, despair, grief, happiness ... oh, she was going mad. How – _how_ – could she have been so stupid as to feel this way for Sirius Black, her best friend's godfather and incidentally, a dead man. She was supposed to be helping him on his road to redemption, and instead here she was – falling hard for him. It was terrible. It was a disaster. Her heart had already cracked when he died, it would surely shatter irreparably when she lost him again. She looked down at her hands, blinking away tears. And besides, it wasn't even as if Sirius could have any feelings for a sixteen-year-old bookworm.  
  
"What's wrong?"  
  
His voice, concerned and puzzled, started her.  
  
She looked up sharply. "N-nothing! I'm fine, Sirius."  
  
"Liar."  
  
"Oh!" she gasped, "How dare you – ?"  
  
He moved so quickly it was like a blur; he was up and out of his chair and had crossed the space between them to kneel down in front of her armchair. He was much taller than she was, and still dwarfed her as she sat small and insignificant in the huge chair. His hands were on the arms of the chair, caging her in. Her heart began to beat terribly fast.  
  
"I dare," said Sirius in typical Marauder fashion, but there was a strange look in his eyes, "Now ... tell me the truth. What's the matter? You don't honestly think I'm going to let the bloody Dark Lord get anywhere near you, do you?"  
  
Hermione stared at him. "No – no, of course I don't," she shrank back slightly in the armchair. He was so close ... "I know you'd never risk that happening – because then you won't – won't get to Heaven – "  
  
Sirius's look of astonishment was priceless. "What?"  
  
"Well, you know – "  
  
"You think _that's_ why I'm hell-bent on keeping you safe? So that I can go to Heaven?"  
  
"Well, of course that's why! Is – isn't it?" she added doubtfully.  
  
He glared at her. "Hermione, you're supposed to be clever."  
  
"It isn't?" her mouth fell open.  
  
Sirius looked at her for a long moment. His eyes darkened slightly, and his gaze had dropped from piercing her own eyes to her mouth, which was slightly open. Hermione saw the burning intentness of his gaze and was amazed that her heart hadn't exploded out of her rib cage, it was pounding so hard. Then Sirius reached out with one hand to touch her cheek. He uttered an oath, damning everything in colourful language, and kissed her. Hermione was so stunned that she didn't even realize she was responding until she felt the heat racing through her entire body.  
  
His hands were on her waist now and she was leaning towards him, kissing him back. Sirius felt the entire world spin around and wondered whether it was just being dead that made him feel so _alive_ – or whether it was just Hermione. She brought him to life, damn it. His rational thought stuttered back, and he jerked back, his breathing shallow. Her eyes were wide, and she blushed hotly as she stared back at him. She looked adorable, but he didn't dare let his thoughts travel on from there. What had he just done? She was Harry's best friend, little more than a child? And he had nothing – nothing but death! What had he just done?! He swallowed hard, brutally suppressing the ache growing inside him, and he shook his head.  
  
"I – I'm sorry. I didn't mean – "  
  
"Sirius ..." Hermione said softly, unable to believe what she was about to say, "Do that again."  
  
His jaw dropped. "Excuse me?"  
  
"Kiss me again."  
  
He didn't need to be asked twice. But all it did was make the ache inside stronger, and made him realize that the first time had not been a fluke. No, he couldn't do this. It – was – wrong. She was young and vital and alive. He was a dead, damned man. This – was – wrong.  
  
He felt the heat of her body sear his fingers through her robes, and the soft warmth of her lips against his, and knew he was drowning.  
  
And he fought for the surface.  
  
"This," he choked out, "Can't happen. You know it can't."  
  
He backed away. Hermione nodded and said softly: "I know. I know it can't."  
  
"I need to take a walk," Sirius raked a hand through his hair, anger and frustration burning in his eyes and making his jaw tight and clenched. "You stay here. Don't you dare go anywhere." With this command, he turned and marched out of the startled portrait's hole. The Fat Lady let out a surprised squawk and he was gone.  
  
His mind was full of racing images as he walked, and he forced himself to focus on one: James. James ... if he completed his task and reached Heaven, he would see James again. He and his best friend could laugh and talk and poke fun at each other and watch over Harry together again. James ... he suddenly felt a pang of longing and smiled. It could happen. He could have his best friend again.  
  
Hermione remained weakly in the chair. Had she really just been kissed by Sirius Black? Only Viktor had ever kissed her before, and that had been absolutely _nothing_ compared to what she had just been through. Dear stars above, she was completely insane and so was he! But it hurt – it hurt to know what they could have had if only – if only ... her mind froze, and she refused to let it go on. But it fought. If they had had the chance to be together, they could have been unstoppable. Perhaps Sirius didn't love her, but he cared about her and wanted her enough ... or at least, she thought he did.  
  
She shook her head, and her train of thought shifted. She was thinking about Time again, but not about herself and about her own death. She had already made her choice about that. Life just wasn't worth living without Sirius – hadn't she realized that months ago, when he had fallen through the Veil and she had woken up in the hospital wing to find that all her dreams had crumbled to dust? Time, dust and flies ... all she would have was time, dust and flies if she lived. But she couldn't break Harry's heart again. There had to be some way she could soften the blow, make sure he had something to live for again. If she could somehow make sure Hogwarts wasn't attacked, Lupin wasn't tortured to madness, Fred wasn't attacked by a Dementor ... it would all make Harry, Ron and the others happier in the future, and more capable of getting over her death. Yes, if she could somehow prevent all those other deaths and tortures – starting from Dung's in his current captivity – Harry would be happier. As it was, what did he have to live for? Possibly only his wife, his son and his godson.  
  
Hermione's eyes teared. What had he said? Something about it being strange ... "_I've got a godfather, and now I've got a godson. I am a godfather_."  
  
Her mind halted, and she stiffened.  
  
What was it about that sentence that nagged at her?  
  
She searched, and analysed ...  
  
And suddenly, it hit her.  
  
_Oh my God. This is impossible_.  
  
How?  
  
And what else had Harry said to her in his office last night (sort of)? Something about Reed's father being his only saving grace, or some such thing, hadn't he?  
  
_How_?  
  
But that meant – that meant –  
  
_Oh. My. God._  
  
Hermione pushed it out of her mind. She would go crazy. There was just too much to think about. She had to forget about that for now, she just had to forget about it and focus on the problem at hand. How to save all those lives – Cho, Padma, Terry, Seamus, and all the others? How to save Professor Lupin and Fred and keep Ron from reaching inches from death and make sure Professor McGonagall wasn't confined to a wheelchair anymore? How to accomplish that?  
  
And then the answer struck her. It was suddenly, swiftly, so simple that she nearly gasped aloud. Of course! Hypothetical situation, strictly: what if Voldemort was to capture her? What if he was to take her to his lair, and Dumbledore (who probably already knew where Voldemort was lurking) alerted the others. She knew Harry and Ron well. They would come after her. She fiercely ignored what might happen to her while in Voldemort's clutches, but instead reflected that if Voldemort did capture her, Harry would fight him, and perhaps kill him. After all, she knew from future experiences that Harry was inherently the stronger of the two wizards. And if that was to happen and Voldemort was killed, say, in a week's time, and the Death Eaters all rounded up and incarcerated or killed, at the same time – then Hogwarts would not be attacked, none of those victims would die or go mad or soulless like they had – and everyone would live happily ever after ...  
  
And Sirius ... Sirius would come after her as well, and he would protect her. And even if she was killed, she knew Sirius would sooner kiss Snape than let anything happen to Harry. His attempt at protecting her, and his protection of Harry during the fight with Voldemort – it would earn him his points, and he would go to Heaven! She nearly smiled, but there were tears in her eyes. Yes, this was an excellent plan. It tied all the strings. And as for her ... in war, sacrifices had to be made ... and as long as he protected Harry with his 'life' (which he would, she knew), she would see Sirius again when she died – if she died –  
  
Her mind was made up. Hermione stood up. It was time to go to bed.  
  
And in three days' time, at their next Hogsmeade weekend where they would be allowed out of the castle – well, she would give Voldemort exactly what he wanted:  
  
Herself.  
  
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TBC.  
  
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A/N: Please, please review and I really must thank everyone who has already reviewed! It's the support and encouragement that really puts the words up on this page!! Anyway, enjoy the chapter and the next one will be posted as soon as it can be completed.  
  
Captain Oblivious: yes, you can borrow Reed, but I'm rather attached to him so remember he's only on loan and take good care of him! ;-) 


	9. Bait

  
  
Disclaimer: "Harry Potter" and all other aspects of this fic that you recognize (unless they're from any of my other fics) all belong to J.K. Rowling, and not to me! The storyline and the ideas involved in this story, however, do belong to me!  
  
Summary: A dark force haunts the trio. When the dead come back to life, can you deal with what they might have to tell you? This is a story about loss, damnation, and a dead man's second chance at redemption ...  
  
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**Road to Redemption  
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Chapter Nine: Bait  
  
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Hogsmeade ... a beautiful, picturesque little village in which exciting things happened, romance blossomed and friends renewed their steadfast bonds. Hermione's mouth twisted a little bitterly as she followed Harry and Ron through the winding cobbled streets towards the Three Broomsticks. Sirius was trailing along behind them. It was the Hogsmeade weekend just before Halloween, and every person and every place was full of festive cheer. It was all Hermione could do to behave normally – for one thing, she and Sirius had kissed (twice) and they had both barely exchanged a word since then; and for another, she had a little plan to put into execution today.  
  
"You're rather quiet today, Hermione," Harry ventured, looking at her and then smiling, "Is something the matter? Did you do something?" He addressed this last remark to Ron with a hint of accusation, but Ron only looked baffled.  
  
"_Me_? I didn't do a thing! D-did I, Hermione?"  
  
"No, Ron," she said wearily, smiling a little in spite of herself.  
  
"Then what's wrong?" asked Harry as he pushed open the door of the Three Broomsticks.  
  
Hermione laughed it off, "Nothing."  
  
As they sat down at the only table left in the place – a large one by the window with many chairs – and Sirius joined them with a slightly awkward look, Harry suddenly turned to Hermione and said, "Is it a guy? It's a guy, isn't it? It's Krum?"  
  
Hermione blinked. Sirius looked up, his eyes narrowing. She suddenly smiled and said coolly, "Yes ... yes, I'm afraid it is Viktor. But it's not that something's wrong. On the contrary," she allowed a mysterious little smile that made Ron sit up and stare avidly to know the juicy secret, "Everything's _good_. I was thinking something he said to me over." She was looking solely at Harry and Ron, smiling at them. "He Apparated outside Hogwarts last night, you know. I met him."  
  
"Last night?" Ron goggled.  
  
"After midnight, when everyone was asleep."  
  
Sirius's narrowed stare had turned into a complete glare. Harry said, sounding stunned: "That doesn't sound like something you would do."  
  
"It was a special occasion," Hermione said with a sweet, mysterious tone in her voice. She was blushing from the fibs she was telling, and was glad to be blushing because it sent a very different message altogether. She paused in the telling of her story so that Madam Rosmerta could give them their 'usuals' – three Butterbeers. "He asked me to marry him."  
  
Ron, who had been taking a sip of Butterbeer, choked and spilled the whole tankard on Harry's head. Harry didn't even seem to notice. Sirius's expression was as black as thunder.  
  
"He – he – what?" stammered Ron feebly.  
  
"Did he really do that?" demanded Harry, Butterbeer dripping off his hair, unnoticed.  
  
"Never mind that – what did _you_ say?" Ron demanded.  
  
Hermione smiled, and said nothing.  
  
"You mean to tell me," Sirius growled furiously, his black eyes blazing with absolutely fury and rage, "That you were stupid enough to leave the castle last night, after dark, and that you went – went to meet _him_? How dare you!"  
  
"Jealous, are you?" snapped Hermione tartly.  
  
Ron stammered: "N-no, I just wanted to know what you said."  
  
"Oh, sorry, Ron! I didn't mean you."  
  
"Then who?" Harry and Ron looked around, flummoxed.  
  
"Bruno."  
  
"This would be your imaginary friend?" asked Ron suspiciously, while Harry stared in complete and utter perplexity.  
  
"Yes ... he's jealous, you see, of Krum."  
  
"I am not jealous," growled Sirius.  
  
"You're not Bruno," said Hermione sweetly.  
  
Ron and Harry looked at each other, clearly wondering whether Hermione's sanity had departed some time over the past week or so. Hermione sighed, closed her eyes and counted to ten. Sirius had the ability to bring out the worst in her. Of course he wasn't jealous ... he was just angry that she had risked herself and thus risked his own chances of going to Heaven. She swallowed hard, squelching the tide of hurt that rose up inside her. She chanced a look at him from beneath her lashes and saw him glaring down at the table. If only ... if only ...  
  
Well, what was gone was gone. Life wasn't made of 'if only's. It was time for Hermione to grow up and realize that all her dreams had been those of a child who adored a grown man. She was no longer a child. It was time to grow out of those dreams as well. Let those dreams dissolve to dust.  
  
Like everything else.  
  
"I'm not myself today," she offered quietly, looking up at Harry and Ron.  
  
Harry pushed her Butterbeer towards her. "You work too hard."  
  
"Not for much longer, though." She nearly bit her tongue.  
  
"What do you mean?"  
  
"Oh, just – " Hermione was immensely relieved when the sounds of familiar voices greeting them alerted them to the fact that Fred and George were standing beside their table and preparing to sit down with them. She could have kissed them both.  
  
An animated, boys-only discussion ensued. Hermione seized the opportunity to study them all with a mixture of affection and sadness. Fred and George ... the number of pranks and stunts and chaotic moments they had created in the time she had known them. She remembered the way they had tried to make Ron patch things up with her when she and Ron had fought about Crookshanks 'killing' Scabbers. She remembered the way she and they had locked horns so often during fifth year because she was prefect and they were anarchists in the midst of what she had hoped to be a disciplined Gryffindor House.  
  
Ron ... Ron, who could always make her laugh. Ron, who she had once had a crush on. Ron, who hated corned beef sandwiches. Ron, who she had spent the majority of her time in Hogwarts either bickering with or helping with his homework. She remembered how he had been so upset and angry when Harry had become school champion for the Triwizard, and had poured out his woes to her. Remembered how he had dragged them all into the Shrieking Shack because he had been so devoted to his pets as well. Remembered the long conversations, full of laughter and arguments, that they had had in their time at Grimmauld Place (often with Sirius), where they were all united by friendship and trust and their concern for Harry's safety.  
  
And Harry ... Hermione blinked sharply ... what could you say about Harry? The number of times he had saved her life and Ron's, put their lives before his ... his courage and strength and loyalty in the face of Voldemort's destruction. His resilience in the face of all the Dark Lord had done to him and taken from him. The way he could always be depended on, as a friend and an ally ... the way he was so deeply devoted to them but always tried not to show it. Harry, who depended on them. What would he do without her, if something happened to her? But he would manage ... he would survive with all of the others who would be there for him. She didn't matter. Harry ... her best friend, who could be so wretchedly selfish yet she loved him just the same for all of his flaws.  
  
Friendship always held. Not even death could take that way. But the good times ... no, the good times were gone. But if she survived, perhaps they could come back. Otherwise, she would watch them have more good times from Heaven (was she good enough to reach Heaven, she wondered).  
  
She couldn't bear it. She had to go.  
  
She had to go _now_.  
  
"Oh!" Hermione gasped, looking out of the window. "I just saw someone I know. I'll be back in a minute." With a smile, she pushed back her chair. She desperately wanted to hug them goodbye, but didn't dare. They would guess, then ...  
  
She fled from the Three Broomsticks –  
  
And realized Sirius was running after her.  
  
"Stop!" he commanded, seizing her and making her turn around. "Are you really going to marry Krum?"  
  
Hermione laughed, a little sadly. "No, Sirius. Of course not."  
  
He stared. "But I don't – "  
  
This time, she couldn't restrain herself. Hermione walked back towards him, and before he could move, she slipped her arms around her neck and kissed him. Then she quickly broke away and said, "I want you to remember something, Sirius. You have to protect Harry, whatever happens. And – and I love you." She backed away, turned, and hurried off. She left him in the middle of the crowded street (imagine what people must have thought if they had seen her!), staring after her as if she had shot him.  
  
Then she disappeared into the crowd.  
  
Hot tears pricking her eyelids, Hermione made her way towards the Hog's Head. Dumbledore had expressly forbidden them from going there – because his informants had discovered that the owner and barman were working for Voldemort as spies. And that was precisely why Hermione was headed there. She entered the pub and found the table closest to the bar before ordering a Butterbeer.  
  
Minutes ticked by. Her heart was thumping painfully.  
  
With grim satisfaction, she watched the barman sneak out of a back door, no doubt to inform his master of a certain 'lucky' circumstance.  
  
It was only a matter of time now.  
  
.  
  
.  
  
.  
  
Sirius shifted restlessly in his chair. He wanted to talk to her – he needed to talk to her – he needed to kiss her, damn it – but where the hell was she? Ron, Fred and George were still talking eagerly, but Harry had quieted slightly as if he, too, had noticed that Hermione had been gone a rather long time. Sirius felt the beginnings of fear take root inside him. But his mind barely grasped the situation. It was fixated on her words, the words that had shaken him right down to his core – 'And – and I love you' ...  
  
She loved him.  
  
_Hermione loved him_.  
  
He could hardly keep a grin off of his face.  
  
But something swiftly made him sober up. It was Harry, who shifted slightly and finally interrupted the others' conversation by saying, "Something's wrong. I can feel it. Where is she? She's been too long. I know something is wrong."  
  
Sirius's grin faded like an eraser on chalk. He felt it too.  
  
Ron frowned at Harry. "What d'you mean, Harry?"  
  
"I'm talking about Hermione," Harry said impatiently, "Where is she? She went out saying there was someone she recognized in the street, whom she wanted to speak to. It's been – " he looked at his watch and his jaw dropped, his face turning rather paler. "It's been _over an hour_ since she went. For pity's sake, Ron, you can't be telling me she's talking to someone she saw in the street for all of this time. And I can't even see her out there."  
  
Sirius stared at Harry. He remembered following her outside. It hadn't struck him then, but Hermione _hadn't_ been heading to talk to somebody. He could have kicked himself. He was supposed to stay with her at all times.  
  
Where the devil had she gone?  
  
The four boys and one man sat at the table for a long moment. Sirius was inwardly cursing himself with every foul word he knew. He couldn't get rid of a premonition of fear. He was terrified that something had actually happened to Hermione. She had disappeared, and had been gone for over an hour, and fools that they were – that he was – not one of them had noticed her absence till then. Sirius had been dwelling on her words before she disappeared. He groaned and closed his eyes, furious with himself. What if something had happened to her? What if she'd been lured to the Hog's Head somehow? Where was she, and where had she gone? That was what troubled him – a nagging feeling inside him: that she had said she saw someone outside but had instead just taken off into the crowd. And the way she had said "_I love you_" ... his blood ran cold. It had sounded like a 'goodbye' or an 'if I don't see you again, remember this'. He stood up abruptly, restlessly, and his chair turned over with a jerk.  
  
Harry, Ron, Fred and George turned their heads sharply at the sound and stared at the chair as if they were all going mad. Then they looked at each other, eyeing the other faces for any sign of disagreement or diminishing sanity, and then George's eyebrows flew upwards. "I assume everyone else saw that chair just overturn itself on its own. Is – is someone there?" he asked doubtfully.  
  
Sirius stared at them. He was too worried to even care that he'd drawn attention to himself. He wished desperately that he could talk to Harry, but there wasn't a sign of parchment, quill or chalkboard anywhere around.  
  
Ron looked uneasy. "Er – Hermione?" he peered into the air around the chair. "Is that you?"  
  
"What's the matter with _you_?" Harry demanded of him.  
  
"It could be Hermione with your Cloak, playing a joke on us ..." Ron sounded unconvincing in the extreme.  
  
Fred rolled his eyes. "Don't be a prat, Ronnie. Hermione doesn't know what 'joke' means."  
  
George smiled, but it soon faded.  
  
"Look," Harry said, standing up, "Forget the bloody chair. I don't give a damn about it right now. I want to know where Hermione Granger is and why she hasn't returned here yet. If there had been some emergency meeting, she would have come back and taken us along – or at least, told her informant where to find us and someone would have come here by now. Something – is – wrong." He emphasized the last words as if they were a chant – or a nail he was trying to hammer into their heads.  
  
Fred nodded soothingly. "Yeah, mate, relax. We get it."  
  
"We have to _do_ something." Harry insisted.  
  
Sirius would have hugged Harry fervently if he had been tangible. "That's my boy, Harry," he said hoarsely, "Get them on their feet and start a search." He was sorely tempted to go out looking on his own, but at the same time, Hermione's words – '_You have to protect Harry, whatever happens_'. He'd already bungled with his first charge. His chest suddenly felt tight. Fiercely, he told himself that he had to stay with Harry and keep and eye on him.  
  
Harry, as they all knew, was prone to playing the hero and dashing off. The last thing they needed was for him to get into more danger. But if his best friend needed him ... that was the question, wasn't it? Did Hermione need someone to rescue her? Was something really wrong with her, was she really in danger? He wished with all his heart that he had followed her. He wished he knew the answers to the questions. He wished he had never accepted Peter's task and had gone straight to hell. That was where he was headed anyway, and if he had just gone sooner, he wouldn't have had to deal with the pain and wrench of seeing Harry again – and of feeling these awfully painful feelings for Hermione.  
  
"What do you want us to do?" asked George, business-like.  
  
Harry opened his mouth to speak, when the door to the Three Broomsticks opened, and Professor McGonagall walked in. Her face was pale, her mouth set in a thin line.  
  
"Professor – " Harry croaked.  
  
She laid a surprisingly gentle hand on his shoulder. "All four of you," she said briskly, but her voice was rather strained, and Sirius felt his muscles stiffening, "Come with me. Professor Dumbledore wants to see Potter and Weasley in his office, and you two – " she indicated Fred and George, " – may as well come along. Your discretion can be relied upon, I'm sure."  
  
"It has to do with Hermione, doesn't it?" said Harry.  
  
"Not here, Potter," Professor McGonagall said sharply to him. "Come along now."  
  
"Just tell me – "  
  
The stern deputy headmistress of Hogwarts paused, and looked down at Harry, her expression softening. Ron looked terrified by now, and there was a small note in Harry's voice when he had spoken – the sound of a child pleading with an adult. For a moment, there was a glistening of tears behind the stern spectacles of the dispassionate professor.  
  
"Yes, Harry," she said gently, calling him by his first name for the first time in his life, a sniffle in her normally crisp voice, "It does have to do with Hermione."  
  
Sirius's heart dropped like a dead weight.  
  
He felt suddenly hollow.  
  
Professor McGonagall stared around the little group for a second, and then with a sympathetic inclination of her head, she turned and swept out of the Three Broomsticks. Baffled and not half-frightened, the four boys stumbled after her, Fred dropping a few coins on the table for their Butterbeers. Sirius stared at the open doorway and, numb, trudged out in Harry's wake.  
  
He was empty.  
  
He knew, instinctively, that he had failed.  
  
And the worst part was, that Sirius wasn't hollow because he was going to hell. He didn't care about that anymore. It was because he had lost her. He had sworn to keep her safe, and now he had lost her.  
  
Over the past two weeks sometime, he had come to realize that without her, he was empty.  
  
.  
  
TBC.  
  
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A/N: This chapter is shorter because I thought the last line was a good place to end it. I wrote up an extra scene, but I think I'll use that for the opening scene of the next chapter. Update coming soon! Enjoy, and please review!! 


	10. Den of the Devil

  
  
Disclaimer: "Harry Potter" and all other aspects of this fic that you recognize (unless they're from any of my other fics) all belong to J.K. Rowling, and not to me! The storyline and the ideas involved in this story, however, do belong to me!  
  
Summary: A dark force haunts the trio. When the dead come back to life, can you deal with what they might have to tell you? This is a story about loss, damnation, and a dead man's second chance at redemption ...  
  
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**Road to Redemption**  
  
**.**  
  
Chapter Ten: Den of the Devil  
  
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It was a very subdued group indeed that gathered in Dumbledore's office not much later in the afternoon. Harry was staring darkly at the headmaster, his eyes demanding an answer and the truth; Ron looked a portrait of misery and fear; Fred and George clearly looked as if they were torn between wanting to know what had happened to Hermione and the deep desire that they were anywhere but where they presently were; Professor McGonagall was continually blowing her nose on her oversized handkerchief (and Sirius could have sworn it was the very same one she had had when she had made James clean Wormtail's bat bogies after James had pulled the prank in Transfiguration); and Sirius himself was pacing the length of Dumbledore's office, occasionally giving vent to his temper and yelling furiously at the top of his voice, before returning to the painful rhythm ... up ... down ... up ... down ...  
  
Hermione ... gone ... Hermione ... hurt ... Hermione ... Voldemort ... Bad ... Picture ... That ... Conjured ... You ... Moron ... Hermione ... lost ... Hermione ... love ... Hermione ... kissing ... Hermione ... gone ...  
  
Sirius swore violently and wanted to throw something against the wall – preferably himself.  
  
He had never been more miserable in his life.  
  
At last (and about time too, he thought angrily), a golden-red feather from Fawkes' tail landed on the desk of the headmaster. The effect this hand on the people was electrifying. Everybody bolted to attention and stared expectantly and worriedly at Dumbledore, who had (to Sirius's shock) gone rather pale. Dumbledore never went really pale. He was always in excellent control of himself.  
  
"Yes," he said softly, sadly, "Fawkes has just confirmed what I feared."  
  
There was silence.  
  
"_Well_?" said Harry with a bite in his voice. "I hope you won't be offended if I'm rather rude, Professor, but this is my best friend and I would dearly like to know what you feared that has now been confirmed by your devoted phoenix!"  
  
Professor McGonagall didn't even seem to have the heart to reprove Harry for his rudeness.  
  
Dumbledore said, "Of course, Harry, I quite understand."  
  
There was silence.  
  
"WELL?" said Harry, Ron and Sirius together.  
  
Dumbledore smiled ever so slightly at their furious desperation and strung nerves. "You must understand," he said in his soft and gentle voice, "That to say it aloud would make it final, would make it real, and that I would give anything not to make it real. It is not the situation at hand per say that causes me such pain, but the way it came about – and why."  
  
"Exactly so, sir," George said, huffing slightly, as a pause ensued after Dumbledore's words, "But I'm afraid none of us understand what the situation at hand is, let alone the way it came about – oh, and why, of course."  
  
"Don't be flippant, Mr Weasley." Unfortunately, the acidity was robbed from Professor McGonagall's tone as she had been obliged to blow her nose in the handkerchief.  
  
"I'm afraid I am being tiresome, Minerva," said Dumbledore.  
  
Harry looked infinitely pleased to see that Dumbledore had grasped this fact.  
  
Sirius itched to fling a paperweight at the wall and wake them up. This was a matter of time, for pity's sake, and not for this wretched dillydallying! He wanted to find Hermione and get her away from the blasted Dark Lord! But of course, no one knew that.  
  
"Hermione has been taken by Voldemort."  
  
The shock of hearing this statement, even thought they had expected it, made everybody blink and just stare blankly at the leader of the Order of the Phoenix. After all the dillydallying in question and the roundabout riddles and the whatnot, it came as a greater shock to hear the statement put so concisely and succinctly – in a word, something Dumbledore could have said aeons ago. Instead, he had gone on chattering ... Sirius shoved his fist into his mouth, restraining the urge to scream because he might miss something important if he did. He was being rather unfair to Dumbledore. After all, the man had found an answer to the disappearance of Hermione is less than two hours, hadn't he?  
  
"Hermione ... taken ..." Ron mumbled, as if he was a child that has just lost its mother, "No ... Professor, you can't be saying – she can't be gone – "  
  
"She is not gone, Mr Weasley," said Dumbledore at once, reassuring and gentle, "By no means. We shall find Voldemort's lair and we shall bring her back – there is no question of that. Of course, there will be difficulties, but I am already working on it as there is also Miss Tonks and Mundungus Fletcher to rescue from the Dark Lord's clutches."  
  
"So there's a chance?" Ron asked, his expression looking terribly hopeful.  
  
"There is always a chance, as long as we hope."  
  
Harry spoke up, his voice quiet and hollow, like a ghost's: "You said that wasn't what hurt you the most. What did hurt you? Why are you so upset, Professor Dumbledore? How was she taken?"  
  
"It's hardly necessary – " began Professor McGonagall, but Sirius growled so loud at that, that he wouldn't have been surprised if the reason she broke off was because she somehow sensed his fury in the very near vicinity to her.  
  
However, it was Dumbledore who said, "They have a right to know, Minerva."  
  
"Yes?" said Fred, his face extremely pale.  
  
"Hermione went to the Hog's Head, I'm afraid. That was how she was captured, else she would be here with us at this very moment. The barman naturally recognized her, as he has been told to keep a watch out for her, and he summoned Voldemort's cronies at once to seize and transport her."  
  
"But – but – " Ron floundered, "She wouldn't – she _knew_ not to go there!"  
  
Sirius was starting to feel sick.  
  
"Hermione wouldn't have made a mistake like that!" yelled Fred.  
  
Harry was staring silently at Dumbledore, a strange look in his dulled green eyes; like Sirius, he seemed to have realized the truth. The colour had all drained out of his face. He looked empty and very much alone.  
  
"She didn't make a mistake," Dumbledore finally said gently, "She went there deliberately. She wanted to be captured, Mr Weasley."  
  
"_No_!" Ron gasped. "I won't believe it!"  
  
"Why the bloody hell – ?"  
  
"She wanted, I believe, to precipitate Harry's killing of Voldemort to sometime very soon."  
  
There was a long moment of deathly silence.  
  
"Why?" Harry's choked voice echoed.  
  
Dumbledore looked very sad, and as his blue eyes moved around the room, Sirius felt frozen as he saw the sharp gaze unmistakably rest directly upon himself. "I suspect," he said softly, his blue eyes still fixed on what was a blank, distant spot to everybody else – but was directly into Sirius's eyes to the shaken and broken Animagus. "I suspect that it all had to do with time. Innocent lives, you see ... and time."  
  
And then Sirius understood.  
  
"I don't believe this," George muttered.  
  
Harry and Fred were silent.  
  
"I can't believe she's gone," Ron said miserably.  
  
Nobody in the room, whether in shock or in misery or in guilt, heard the sound of the strangled sob that echoed right up to the Golden Gates – but every single one of them heard and saw the crashing of splintered wood in the wall of Dumbledore's office ... as if a strong and violent, utterly invisible fist had just slammed itself into the hard and bitter wall.  
  
**.  
  
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**  
Her head was throbbing and every muscle in her body ached, but Hermione knew she was alive the moment her eyelids flickered and she caught sight of a blurry ceiling above her.  
  
They had not exactly been cruel, because their master had wanted her unbruised (for a not exactly unfathomable reason, of course), but she had kicked and struggled so hard (so as not to make them suspicious) that they had been obliged to knock her out in a rather old-fashioned way. She didn't know how long she had been unconscious, it could easily have been days by now, because her head _really_ throbbed – but she only knew that she was awake now and that the Dark Lord had not come to claim his prize just yet.  
  
The thought made a shiver run down her spine, and made bile rise in her throat. She had never even faced the Dark Lord before – Harry was the one who had looked at him. She didn't even know what to expect, and her mind was filled with images of a different, black-eyed, black-haired Animagus ...  
  
Whom she had indirectly betrayed by coming here at all.  
  
It was still impossible for Hermione to know whether she had done the right thing or not. Had she really made a terrible mistake? Her head throbbed. She was about to succumb to the weariness and the sorrow of what she had had to do, and sink back into the numb bliss of darkness, when a soft and worried voice made her force her eyes open again.  
  
"Hermione? Oh, Hermione, can you hear me?"  
  
That voice ... that voice was familiar ...  
  
Damn it, whose voice was that? Hermione forced her head to stop swimming, and turned slightly on the hard and uncomfortable bed she was lying on.  
  
A pale, heart-shaped face surrounded by violet hair looked down at her, concerned.  
  
"Tonks ..." Hermione said, and she smiled.  
  
Tonks exhaled a sigh of relief and sank back against the chair she was sitting in beside Hermione's bed. There was another bed on the other side of the room, Hermione noticed. It was not a particularly nice room, being rather cold and bare and haunted with the presentiment of evil – but it was not the dark and grimy cell she had pictured. In fact, this didn't seem like a prisoner's dungeon at all, although they were both undoubtedly locked here. Hermione looked at Tonks, relieved to see that she was unhurt. But there were shadows under her eyes, and she looked wan and miserable.  
  
Hermione's heart was wrung. Poor Tonks had been here for a little over a week. It couldn't have been happy or pleasant or even remotely comfortable to be in the presence of Voldemort for over a week, and not have any escape or any knowledge if someone would come to save her.  
  
"I'm so sorry," she said.  
  
Tonks blinked. "What for?"  
  
"I'm the reason you and Dung were captured, and Emmeline Vance k-killed."  
  
"Is that so?" scowled Tonks, her old, bossy self again, "Well, you listen to me Hermione Granger. The three of us _volunteered_ to be your Guard. Dumbledore may have found anybody else if he really needed them, but we chose to be. So you can put those ideas of blaming yourself out of your head. If anyone's to blame, it's me – an Auror – for getting captured and thus, allowing you to be captured."  
  
"Don't be silly, Tonks," said Hermione with a faint smile. "You don't know what I've done."  
  
"Well, don't tell me!" said the Metamorphmagus cheerfully, smiling at her as Hermione pushed herself up into a sitting position in the bed, "I'm so clumsy, I'd probably spill the beans to the first person who asked anyway!" Her expression softened. "I'm so glad you're awake. You've been unconscious for two days now, and I've been trying to revive you in the old-fashioned Muggle way, but it hasn't been working."  
  
"My head throbs," Hermione muttered, and then said, "Thank you."  
  
"Oh, I had nothing else to do, did I?"  
  
Hermione looked around, and suddenly she grabbed Tonks and said, "Dung! Tonks, where's Dung?"  
  
"He's in the next room," said Tonks, jerking her head towards the wall and looking surprised, "I think he's ridiculously happy there. I imagine the room isn't any worse than the squalor he lives in. But gee, Hermione, I didn't know you were that interested in Dung – "  
  
"Get that idea right out of your head, Nymphadora!" Hermione said, appalled. "But he's alive? He hasn't been killed in any sort of way?"  
  
"No ... he's all right."  
  
"Well, that's one life," Hermione murmured under her breath, but she found little pleasure in the fact. The thought that she was risking other lives with her little stunt – lives that meant so much to her – was a very sobering thought indeed. She looked at Tonks, who was studying her with a slightly puzzled and thoughtful expression, as if she was trying to work something out. "Yes?" asked Hermione.  
  
"Well, you see – it's just that I always thought you liked my cousin – "  
  
"Which one?"  
  
"Sirius, of course," said Tonks, smiling.  
  
Hermione sighed. "No."  
  
"Oh, I really am tactless, aren't I?" said Tonks, her smile fading, "I'm so sorry, Hermione, I know it still hurts to know he's – you know. It's just that I haven't had a chance to talk about him to anyone since he – you know. I miss him, too. He was my favourite cousin, and Remus and Harry and everybody else just don't seem able to talk about him because they haven't yet gotten over the fact that he's – you know."  
  
"Dead?" Hermione said gently.  
  
"Well – yes."  
  
Hermione looked at the miserable Metamorphmagus, one of the few people who (like herself) had missed Sirius for months since he had been gone and nobody had ever realized how much they had because nobody had ever known how much they cared. She could sympathize with Tonks; there had been many times when she had wanted to talk about Sirius, but Ron had always made shushing noises and Harry had looked at her like a hard block of stone or simply walked over. She hadn't had the heart to push the topic and hurt him anymore. And now, ironically when one person wanted to talk about him, she could no longer do it. She knew how Harry felt now, and it would hurt her terribly to even think about him and what had happened. She knew the meaning of pain.  
  
Yes, she knew the meaning of pain. But, fool that she was, she had also caused so much pain with her deeds and actions and decisions. Insufferable know-it-all ... Snape knew her better than she even knew herself, she thought bitterly. 'After what I've done, why shouldn't I suffer a little more? Tonks needs to talk about him. What right do I have to hurt her by refusing? It's the least I can do.'  
  
"You're wrong, Tonks," Hermione said slowly, in as careless a voice as she could manage, "I would very much like to talk about him. I've wanted to for a very long time now, and if you're willing to – yes, I would like to."  
  
Tonks reached forward and impulsively hugged Hermione. "I – I'd like to."  
  
"Yes, we have nothing else to do for the rest of the day, do we?"  
  
And so they did.  
  
They talked about the things he had done and the way he had been. Tonks told Hermione stories she had never heard or known of before, and Hermione gave Tonks the exciting little details of such events as Sirius's escape on Buckbeak, Wormtail's return, Sirius coming to Hogsmeade to meet them during their fourth year. For nearly two hours – during which a sullen guard brought a meagre lunch and departed again – they simply talked about Sirius. Hermione didn't let the hot tears she felt in her chest flow, but merely found small inkling of joy in the way Tonks' expression lightened after each story and each memory that they had both cherished for so long.  
  
"Do you think Sirius will go to heaven or to hell?" asked Tonks suddenly.  
  
Hermione started. "Why do you say that?"  
  
"Well, you're Muggle-born, are you? My dad used to tell me that when people die, it's their Judgment Day and there's all kinds of stuff to decide where you go." Tonks shrugged and grinned. "I wonder if wizards go there too, and if they do, where Sirius has gone. He's not a evil person at all – but he's much too much of an anarchist and rebel to be considered pure and perfect. Yes, it's a very interesting problem."  
  
"He might have struck a balance between the two," murmured Hermione.  
  
"Very likely! I wonder what happens then."  
  
"Perhaps they would give him a task and send him back to earth as a sort of ghost to carry out his task, thus earning entrance into heaven," suggested Hermione dryly.  
  
Tonks looked very much struck by this possibility.  
  
Hermione smiled slightly.  
  
Tonks would never know ...  
  
After some time more of talking, and their topics drifted beyond Sirius and they indulged in what, under normal circumstances, Hermione would have termed 'girl talk' (certainly men and past flames were a vast topic of discussion), Tonks sighed and finished the last of the tasteless broth they had been given to eat with stale bread. She looked up at Hermione and said:  
  
"Do you think we're going to escape this place?" she asked quietly.  
  
Hermione squeezed Tonks' hand and said with utmost faith in those she knew: "Undoubtedly ... they will come for us, Tonks. They'll find us."  
  
"Yes," said Tonks, nodding, "I believe they will."  
  
"Tonks, can I ask you a question?"  
  
"I'm suspicious of that tone in your voice. If it has anything to do with why they've given me three warning at the Auror office, I refuse to answer."  
  
Hermione laughed, in spite of herself. "No, it's just – do you – er – like Professor Lupin?"  
  
Tonks went bright scarlet. "Well – I – of course I _like_ him, I mean – he's a – "  
  
"How long ago was it that you fell in love with him?"  
  
Tonks looked at Hermione in dismay. "Oh, _no_! Have I fallen in love with him? This is a catastrophe! A nightmare! Ridiculous! What on earth could he want with a clumsy, tactless, completely out-at-sea very young Auror like me? It was when Dumbledore first inducted me into the Order," she added in a slightly dreamy voice, "And Remus was the one who put me through my tests. He – he was – is – er – very understanding."  
  
"Oh, quite," said Hermione, as seriously as she could in the face of Tonks' embarrassment.  
  
"Are you sure I'm in love with him?" asked Tonks doubtfully.  
  
Hermione smiled. "Believe me, I can tell."  
  
"Well, I'll take your word for it. I'm rather gauche in matters like these – well, in all matters, actually, but particularly in romantic ones." Tonks sighed and shook her head. "Well then, that decides it!"  
  
"Decides what?"  
  
"I've got to flee, of course!"  
  
Hermione did not see any cause for the 'of course'. She looked suspiciously at Tonks and said, "You most certainly will not flee! An Auror, a coward in the face of love? Don't be silly, Tonks. Why would you want to flee anyway? I would suggest you march up to him, tripping over the hat-stand on the way and allowing him to help you up in his quiet and gallant way, and you ask him to dinner."  
  
"He'll faint."  
  
"Men don't faint."  
  
"He'll laugh."  
  
"Professor Lupin wouldn't laugh."  
  
"He'll refuse."  
  
"Of course not!"  
  
"He'll – wait a minute." Tonks blinked. "Why won't he refuse?"  
  
"Because he's quite taken with you as well," Hermione said matter-of- factly, deciding that this could be the last good deed she would ever do on this earth. Perhaps that would cancel out the negative point she had received for what she had done, and maybe she too would strike a balance and come back to earth as a ghost.  
  
Tonks looked so astonished that it was almost funny. "He _does_?!"  
  
Hermione briefly reflected that this was not a very conventional conversation for two prisoners to be having in a cold and evil-atmospheric room. But she couldn't help smiling a little. "Yes, he does. It's as plain as pikestaff, Tonks."  
  
"I've never understood why pikestaff is plain," remarked the young woman, "What _is_ pikestaff anyway?"  
  
"Never mind pikestaff," said Hermione hastily, "You haven't seen him since you were captured. He looks at least ten times paler and there are more shadows across his face. I think he actually looks forward to the full moon now – so that he can transform and forget all about you, and all about Sirius. No doubt," she added wisely, "He blames himself too. People have a tendency to do that. I know for a fact that Fred blames himself for Sirius's death. If you can give me one good reason why he is responsible for that ..." She shook her head, "The point is – Professor Lupin fancies you very much. You should really tell him how you feel, Tonks, as soon as you get out of here. Love – love doesn't come along many times in one person's lifetime."  
  
"You're very clever, aren't you, Hermione?" said Tonks with frank admiration.  
  
"No," said Hermione softly, "I'm not very clever at all."  
  
They had just begun to relax and Hermione could say that her head and heart had stopped aching so much as they sat there and talked about romance and nothing in particular, but in a flash, the moment of brief relief was gone. They both the soft click that echoed through the bare room.  
  
Both girls turned sharply to the door.  
  
It slid open.  
  
Hermione felt a cold chill seize her heart. A tall figure cloaked in black and hooded stood in the doorway, and even thought she couldn't see the white shell of a face that lay beneath, she sensed the stretching of thin lips into an evil smile. An evil, icy hand was squeezing her heart, choking her life out of her. Tonks' hand, suddenly very cold, clutched hers beneath the blankets of the bed.  
  
"Well, well, Hermione," said a soft, cold voice that chilled her very blood, "I've been waiting for you."  
  
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TBC.  
  
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A/N: I had intended the next chapter to be the last, but writer's instinct :-) tells me that there may be two more chapters coming up. Please review and enjoy the story, and I shall update as soon as is humanly possible! 


	11. Hellhounds

  
  
Disclaimer: "Harry Potter" and all other aspects of this fic that you recognize (unless they're from any of my other fics) all belong to J.K. Rowling, and not to me! The storyline and the ideas involved in this story, however, do belong to me!  
  
Summary: A dark force haunts the trio. When the dead come back to life, can you deal with what they might have to tell you? This is a story about loss, damnation, and a dead man's second chance at redemption ...  
  
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**Road to Redemption  
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Chapter Eleven: Hellhounds  
  
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So this, thought Hermione as a spasm of fear clutched her very soul, was the Dark Lord.  
  
He was more terrifying than she had ever imagined. Somehow, whenever Hermione had dared to imagine Lord Voldemort in her mind (and this had not been very frequent), she'd always pictured a sort of crude, exaggerated, heavily breathing, hulky fellow in armour who would be blasted at with some sort of mediaeval weapon and would turn into a glowing red eye. She had been sorely mistaken. Clearly, those sorts of imaginings were what one must expect when the mind starts to confuse Sauron with Darth Vader. Hermione was very well versed in Muggle literature and cinematography.  
  
The man standing in the doorway so nonchalantly and yet so dangerously, was very different. He was tall and extremely thin, with skin so pale that it was nearly translucent. He did not cover his face with a mask, but his hood shadowed it from her view. Yet his eyes burned into her – not like Sirius's did, but with a potent, lethal, terrifying penetration that made her feel as if her very soul was being ripped into shreds and handed to him for his own perusal. Tonks' hand under the blankets was shaking, and Hermione didn't know if it was really all her hand or whether Hermione's hand was also trembling. This man – no, this monster – terrified her because he could not be classified. He was so thin that one might expect him to succumb easily to physical force. But that was the frightening part. She could have battled a physical force. This power, this innate and dangerous, cruel power was something for which she was unprepared and could not face. She didn't know what to do, she felt like he was already destroying and breaking her. It was not power. It was ... _evil_.  
  
For a minute, while her mind grasped feebly at these reflections, he merely stood in the doorway with his eyes upon her, watching her, hungry, intent, thirsty, desperate ... like a predator about to pounce on his prey. Hermione felt sick to her stomach, a stomach that had run as cold and trembling as the rest of her. She had made a terrible mistake.  
  
And now, it was too late.  
  
"We could stand here and stare at each other all day," said the cold, cruelly amused voice, "But I'm afraid I had other things – some rather interesting other things – in mind. Come with me, Hermione."  
  
"No!" Tonks had found her tongue. "Don't – "  
  
The Dark Lord ignored her. "Hermione," he said softly, "I won't ask twice."  
  
His hidden eyes flickered towards Tonks and back to Hermione. Hermione heard his silent message as clearly as if he had shouted it out loud. If she didn't go with him, he would kill Tonks. Slowly, she managed to disentangle her fingers from Tonks'. With the blood roaring in her ears and a cold hand still squeezing her heart, she climbed out of bed. Tonks made a whimpering sound, but Hermione couldn't stay. She walked hollowly towards the door.  
  
"Very good," said Voldemort, and she sensed the thin stretching of his lips again, a cruel smile, "You are just as clever as I always thought you would be."  
  
He turned his head towards the corridor outside and numbly, empty but silently screaming inside her own head, with no escape and no answer and no handsome lover to save her from this fate, Hermione walked down the corridor. She heard the click of a door closing and locking, and the soft, silent footsteps of the epitome of evil following in her wake.  
  
They reached a room after two more long corridors, a wide and large hall, and a flight of stairs. In the hall were Death Eaters – about three of them, Lucius Malfoy and Hermione's kind acquaintance Dolohov among them. Her face burned with humiliation as they turned to sneer and mock her, and the sound of the Dark Lord's soft, coldly amused laughter at what she had to endure made her tremble with fear and with fury. She nearly stumbled up the stairs, and was directed into a room at the head of the landing. It was a large room, but Hermione saw only three things in it: a barred window, an armchair, and a large king-sized bed. Sick at heart and fighting valiantly to suppress her trembling limbs, she turned slowly as the door of the room closed, and faced the monster that had brought her here.  
  
A stifled cry lodged in her throat. He had lowered his hood and she could see his face now, utterly pale and lifeless and death – little more than a shell that bore a distinct resemblance to a snake. Hermione stared in horror, trapped under the beam of two burning scarlet eyes, thin lips sneering at her.  
  
"Tea?" asked Voldemort coolly, twirling his wand between his fingers.  
  
Hermione swallowed, unsure of her ears. Had he really just said 'tea?'.  
  
"Or perhaps you'd prefer coffee."  
  
"N-no," she managed, hating and fearing at slow smirk.  
  
Exquisitely thin eyebrows lifted. "I am rather surprised. I didn't expect you to be so – _willing_, shall we say? But you don't appear to even spend some time on tea."  
  
"No!" Hermione drew back, repulsed. "That wasn't – I would never want that!" she spat.  
  
"Such anger, such spirit – I do admire it."  
  
"Why?" she choked out.  
  
He sat down in the armchair, fingers tapping the arms, the dreadful eyes surveying her like a cat about to pounce on its prey. "Why?" he repeated inquiringly, cruelly smirking at her.  
  
"Why did you bring me here?"  
  
"I think you know the answer to that."  
  
"W-Why me?"  
  
"Ah," drawled Voldemort coldly, looking at her with reflective, cruel amusement, "It's a rather difficult question, that. You are a Mudblood, which initially put me off. But then I found myself growing more and more fascinated with you – your brains, your sheer nerve, your loyalty to your friends – they are qualities I admire, you know, even if you chose your side wrong. You would have done much better with me, by my side. I have heard stories about you – from Malfoy, from Dolohov, from Rookwood ... and imagine the victory, if I were to have you – you, one of Harry Potter's closest and strongest allies!" He laughed his high, cruel laugh that made her shiver, "And of course, there is my most primitive reason, and I do beg you to forgive me if I must be indelicate with a girl of your youth: lust."  
  
"You will _never_ have your victory!" Hermione spat angrily, her eyes flashing at him, even thought her heart pounded in terror, "You will never have me. I would sooner die! And Harry! Harry will find you and he will come here. You will never defeat him. You've tried four times, and you've failed every single time. Harry has powers and strength you will never possess – love, humanity. He will crush you to pieces and I will laugh when I watch him do it – !"  
  
He sprang from the chair like a tiger, and had her by the hands. His hands, thin and cold yet terribly strong, twisted her wrists till she cried out in pain and bore her backwards onto the bed. It happened so fast that she didn't see it coming, but the next instant a jarring pain shot through her face and it was as if all the bones in the left side of her face had shattered.  
  
Tears filled her eyes, but she refused to let them spill. She lay pinned to the bed, and watched through hazy vision as the flame of anger died in Voldemort's eyes and he grimly looked down at her, the cold mask of mockery and cruelty setting over his livid features again.  
  
Her face throbbed, but she wasn't about to give him the satisfaction of knowing it.  
  
"Filth," said the Dark Lord softly, "Stained with the blood of Muggles."  
  
"So are you," she whispered.  
  
She sensed the blow before it came, and couldn't stop it. Numbed, the taste of warm blood on her lip, a terrible sense of what was to come overwhelming her, she lay helpless but angry, refusing to yield.  
  
"Oh yes ..." the voice was suddenly altered, suddenly hungry and anticipatory again, "I shall enjoy humiliating and breaking you ... I shall enjoy it very much indeed ..."  
  
He was about to do just that, when they heard the crash.  
  
"_ALOHOMORA_!" shouted a familiar voice.  
  
And the door shattered open.  
  
Voldemort sprang up, his face livid again. Hermione stumbled to her feet, gripping the bedpost for support for she was weakened and disoriented, her head throbbing terribly again. But her eyes were by no means at fault, and they saw something that made her heart leap terrifically, and made her pain shy away into the background of her feelings and her thoughts.  
  
Harry walked into the room, his wand outstretched and deadly in a strong and steady hand. He was very pale, and Hermione knew he felt the fear, but he continued walking. His green eyes, astonishingly vivid in his pale face, blazed with a fury and intent that she had never seen before. They flickered over her, his features and the blaze softening slightly, and then they hardened again as he took a good look at her. His hand was shaking slightly now – he knew his fate was as near as it would ever be. He looked at Voldemort, whose face was cold and contemptuous again. Terrified yet brave, scarred yet strong, young yet aged, Harry walked further into the room, his eyes fixed upon his enemy, the will to destroy – not for himself but for others – written there.  
  
"Clever as always, Hermione," sneered Voldemort, "You did say he would come."  
  
Neither Harry nor Hermione responded.  
  
"So, Potter. We meet again – for the last time."  
  
"Yes," said Harry grimly.  
  
"You are not ready to fight me, Potter."  
  
"We shall see about that, won't we, Riddle."  
  
Voldemort turned – if it were possible – even whiter, and gripped his wand tighter. The anger flared in those terrible scarlet eyes for a moment, and then subsided into cruel thirst again. "Don't do me the disrespect of using that name, Potter."  
  
"Hermione," said Harry, not taking his eyes off his enemy, "Go."  
  
She started, her eyes widening. Leave him here with this monster? How could she?  
  
"No, Harry – "  
  
"You can't help me. You don't even have your wand, and I don't want you in the same room as him any longer. Get the hell out of here now, do you hear me?"  
  
Something in his voice, that note of command, of a true leader – made her obey. Hermione swallowed hard, blinked back the tears, and stumbled towards the door. Harry shielded her from any attempt Voldemort might have made to stop her, and she soon found herself standing on the stairs. Her mind was spinning, hazy and dark, full of mists and fog so that she couldn't think straight. But she saw an astounding sight in the large hall of this nightmarish place, and she stared for a moment in complete and utter wonder.  
  
Members of the Order of the Phoenix – dozens of them, including Dumbledore, the Weasleys, Lupin and Ron, too – were fighting all of Voldemort's Death Eaters in the hall. She could see Ron's pale and determined face and he used every counter-curse and every wicked hex he knew, and she was filled with a great deal of pride. She felt a tearful smile tug at her lips as she saw Hagrid swinging his arms left and right and throwing attackers in piles against the walls. Professor McGonagall, elderly but grim-faced, was applying a very painful-looking curse to (to Hermione's pleasure) Dolohov. Lupin was fighting like a madman, and Hermione knew he saw two faces in his mind as he did so: Sirius's, and Tonks's. Fawkes was there too – Fawkes soared towards her; he had seen her.  
  
"Oh, Fawkes," she nearly sobbed, smiling up at him.  
  
A pearly tear fell onto her head, a symbol of recognition and of the phoenix's joy at seeing her again, and across the room, Dumbledore looked up as if receiving a secret message from his old friend, and she saw him smile.  
  
There were so many people and such a flurry of curses that the confusion was inevitable. With all the flashes of light and yells of pain or triumph, nobody else noticed her and nobody else saw her. Hermione stared at them, amazed and appalled at the same time, still suffering from the shock of what had nearly happened to her – when suddenly, her brain snapped back into order. While the Death Eaters were all distracted, she could find Tonks and Dung and get them out of imprisonment. Tonks was probably itching for the fight, and Dung was doomed to die if she didn't do something. She slipped down the stairs, her feet still unsteady and her head still aching, and she staggered into the corridor.  
  
The corridors were twisting ribbons in the midst of the dark hole they were all in, and they were all lit dimly with candles scattered along the walls. Hermione had broken into a run, and was running hard down the bends of the corridor, so hard that she didn't hear the footsteps running up from the opposite direction. It was only when she rounded the bend that she realized the presence of the other person, for she collided directly (and painfully) into him.  
  
"Argh!" she groaned, trying to breathe again.  
  
Whatever breath she may have gathered in the incredulous pause that followed was immediately lost as a heart-stopping voice choked out: "H- Hermione?"  
  
She looked up sharply, into the shadowed face whose handsome features were illuminated in candlelight.  
  
"Sirius!" she breathed, her stopped heart racing wildly now.  
  
He reached out, touched her hair.  
  
"I – I thought – " his voice was hoarse.  
  
"I know," she said softly.  
  
Then she began to cry.  
  
When she thought about it afterwards, she felt like a fool. But at that moment, she was powerless to stop the tears from flooding her eyes and streaming down her face. There were no sniffles, no wails – they were silent tears with the occasional broken sob cracking them apart. Perhaps it was the combination of exhaustion, strain, fear, pain and sheer joy – but she did cry. And Sirius pulled her to him, one arm around her back and crushing her to him, the other hand stroking her hair as if he still couldn't believe she was real and that she was there, she was safe with him.  
  
When she looked up, her face tear-stained and splotchy but to him had never looked so beautiful, he felt like his heart would burst out of his chest and soar up into the sky.  
  
"How did you find us?" Hermione asked him.  
  
Sirius's jaw hardened grimly. "I could kill you for what you did, you little fool – and I would, only I'm afraid I've gotten too addicted to kissing you." His mouth twitched as she blushed, and he said, "After Dumbledore told us what had happened, I think my mental thoughts must have transferred themselves to Harry. He, Ron, Fred, George and I decided to take matters into our own hands."  
  
"What did you do?"  
  
"It was quite simple, actually, astoundingly so. Voldemort should choose his spies with more care; they're rather unreliable. We located the owner of the Hog's Head and weren't very polite to him. I joined in as well – I suspect the others believe some sort of ghost is following them around, but they were pleased with my input. Let's just say he thought us the more dangerous evil, and told us where he had taken you." He suddenly smiled his slow grin. "Dumbledore expressed disapproval at our methods of discovering information, but I swear his eyes twinkled."  
  
"Oh, I daresay," Hermione said, laughing. She suddenly felt giddy, light- headed; as if all her pain and all of her fear had just dissolved into dust the moment she had been in Sirius's arms again. "I'm so happy to see you," she said softly, a little shyly, "I was sure I wouldn't see you again – and then V-Voldemort was there, and he – I just couldn't bear the idea of kissing him – especially after kissing you the way I did – "  
  
"Did he try to kiss you?" growled Sirius.  
  
"He came close."  
  
"Trespassers will be punished."  
  
She burst out laughing at that. "You really were jealous when I was talking about Viktor, weren't you?"  
  
"Of course I was," said Sirius, "I wanted to break every bone in his body. You're mine."  
  
"Aren't we possessive," she teased.  
  
His hand accidentally brushed the left side of her face, and she flinched involuntarily from the sudden stab of pain. She saw his brow furrow and then his eyes darken, as he understood. He held her jaw with surprisingly gentle fingers and tilted her face up to the candlelight, so that the golden glow fell across her rather puffy, lip with the drops of blood and the nasty bruise searing her cheekbone. Hermione heard him utter a filthy oath.  
  
"Sirius – " she began.  
  
"Hush," he said, pulling her back towards him, his voice dropping, "I can kiss it better." And he did exactly that. He bent his head and kissed her, softly but with longing. Hermione felt the last of the residual anxiety and pain melt away and she slipped her arms around his neck, moving as close to him as she could possibly get, his mouth roving over hers with a strange mixture of desire as well as tenderness. His tongue, soft and warm, touched her lower lip, as if healing the cut a monster had created. Hermione kissed him harder, and he held her tighter. She never wanted to stop. She moaned softly.  
  
He drew back. "Did I hurt you?" he asked worriedly.  
  
"No," she said with a good deal of reproach in her voice, "I liked it."  
  
He grinned, tracing his thumb along her lip, and then he said, "Wait. I've got a question for you. Do you really love me?"  
  
She looked up at him and didn't hesitate. "Yes."  
  
"Thank Merlin!" he said hoarsely.  
  
"W-Why?"  
  
Sirius blinked, as if astonished that she should ask. "Well, I love you, don't I?"  
  
"You do?" Hermione's heart soared, and she breathed, "Oh."  
  
He grinned down at her with that amused, affectionate look in his eyes. He might have kissed her again – only they were interrupted. The sound of Lucius Malfoy's agonized scream echoed all the way from the hall into the corridors, and made them both realize exactly where they were and what was going on not far from them. Hermione turned sharply and gasped, appalled with herself for forgetting.  
  
"Oh, my! We'd forgotten all about them! I've got to get to Tonks and Dung – "  
  
"Wait," said Sirius, frowning, "Dung's already out. He's gone off through the back way – there are no Death Eaters there, they're all in the hall – and he'll find Dumbledore's reinforcements outside there. He's rather wounded, but will be fine. One of the new Death Eater recruits had attacked him when he broke out of his room. Nearly killed him, but I got there in time. I think," he added reflectively, "That Dung was more afraid of his invisible ally than of the Death Eater."  
  
Hermione stared at him. Her mind had cleared a little, and she was thinking. She realized that if Sirius had not been where he had been today – if they had not come they way they had at this time – Dung would have been dead by now.  
  
"Thank heavens," she said, "Did you find Tonks?"  
  
"No – where is she?"  
  
"In the room beyond Dung's."  
  
They hurried down the corridor towards the rooms in which Hermione had been trapped. Sirius had her wand, and he handed it to her as they ran. Hermione felt a thrill of exhilaration as her fingers closed around the familiar, comforting, warm wood. She had felt almost naked and vulnerable without it. She jumped over the crumpled body of the Death Eater recruit and arrived at the shut door. Through the small glass pane, she saw Tonks pressing her nose against the pane and trying to peer out to see the cause of the all the commotion. Her eyes widened as she saw Hermione, and she grinned. Hermione pointed her wand and opened the door. Tonks burst out.  
  
"Hermione! I was so terrified – are you all right? Good grief, what bruises! Who did that to you?"  
  
"Guess," said the girl dryly.  
  
"Nasty temper, I would say," said Tonks, gingerly prodding at the bruise and making Hermione take a step back to escape the inquisitive finger, "Clearly got some childhood issues. To do with his mother, no doubt. That's the psychology behind it all, as my mother would tell you if she was here."  
  
"I'm thanking the stars Andromeda isn't here," said the male voice from a few feet behind Hermione.  
  
"Tonks, are you okay?" asked Hermione.  
  
"Oh, I'm as peachy as ever! Just utterly miserable."  
  
"Why? You're out of there!"  
  
"I know ... but I'm missing the action!" she wailed in despair.  
  
"Yes, well – "  
  
"I've got to join in. It's not too late, is it? Have they stopped fighting?"  
  
"No, but – "  
  
"Then I've got to get there!"  
  
"Tonks, you don't have a wand, don't be impractical – " Hermione broke off as she saw Tonks gaping at something over her shoulder. Turning, she saw Sirius remove the wand from the Death Eater's body and bring it across.  
  
To Tonks, she realized, it was a floating wand.  
  
"Don't ask questions," she advised wryly, thrusting the wand at the Metamorphmagus, "Just make good use of it."  
  
"Let's go!" the young woman cried.  
  
They ran back down the corridor, Sirius following. Their footsteps clattered against the stone floors while the candles sent golden spectres dancing against the walls, and the sounds of shrieks and groans and battle creating a rather morbid symphony to their ears. Hermione knew she would never in all her life forget this day. It would haunt her forever. Of course, she remembered rather sadly, forever wasn't very long for her.  
  
They approached the hallway. Sirius and Hermione were a little more cautious as they reached the entrance into the hall at the opening of the corridors. The sight of Hagrid roaring was a very gratifying one. Tonks, however, did not even consider caution. She burst into the room dramatically, brandishing her wand – and promptly collided into Remus Lupin. Both stumbled and reached out to steady the other – and then they both froze. Hermione thought the expressions on both faces were priceless. Beside her, Sirius started to laugh.  
  
"R-Remus," gasped Tonks, staring at him.  
  
"Hello, Tonks," he said quietly, but there was a glow in his eyes that he couldn't quite hide, "I'm glad to see you're all right. In fact, I'm – I'm very glad to see you."  
  
"Did you miss me?"  
  
"Rather."  
  
Sirius scoffed. "No finesse," he said with a grin.  
  
Tonks, mindful of Hermione's advice and displaying rather poor judgment of good timing, blundered on with a sudden, "Remus – I like you!"  
  
Hermione buried her face in her hands.  
  
"I beg your pardon?" the werewolf actually stammered.  
  
"I mean – " Tonks blushed, "I love you."  
  
Hermione grabbed Sirius's arm and pulled him out of the hall corner and towards the other wall, so that they didn't have to eavesdrop on a conversation long overdue (even if Tonks would have done better to wait until they were all out of this place). She ignored his protests about the necessity of being a good chaperone to his best friend and niece and mercilessly bore him away. There weren't many people in the room now. Most of the Death Eaters lay dead or unconscious in piles near the walls, and a few Order members were injured , and some cold. Kingsley Shacklebolt appeared to have broken his leg.  
  
"HERMIONE!"  
  
The familiar voice made her turn her head. She saw Ron, his face alight with delight and triumph, beaming at her from across the room. Hagrid had frozen mid-roar and whirled around clumsily at the sound of Ron's yell. She saw similar reactions from Fred and George, and even Snape turned around, although he didn't look terribly pleased to see her. Wormtail lay on the floor, dead. Hermione knew at last that the deaths of Lily and James had been avenged. She looked across the remaining duellists at Ron. She suspected he might have thrown himself all the way at her, George had a firm grip on his shirt to keep him from moving and getting into the path of Rabastan Lestrange and Mad-Eye Moody.  
  
Laughing, she was about to move towards him when something caught her attention. It was a patch in an empty space of the floor, and nobody else seemed to have noticed it, although Sirius did stir slightly. The patch shimmered on the ground, growing brighter and brighter – and then it took shape. Instinctively, Hermione knew what it was.  
  
Cerberus, the minion of hell, stood not far from them, snarling.  
  
In a flash, Sirius had transformed and the huge black dog had leaped towards the other.  
  
Hermione stood as if petrified, watching. Evidently, she was the only one who could see what was happening but she didn't understand why she could. Then her mind began to work, and she reasoned that some sort of channel between death and life had to have been opened for her to see Sirius – and thus, it gave her the ability to see all dead creatures that showed themselves on earth. And she also knew one thing, and her heart sank terribly. Cerberus was here to sabotage Sirius's task, to attack him and whip him off to Hades' domain. And Sirius had just attacked him right back ...  
  
It was terrible to watch. It looked like two hellhounds who were at each other's throats – literally. Cerberus's three heads were snapping viciously at any part of Sirius they could reach, and Sirius had one of the three muzzles in his jaws, ripping –  
  
Hermione darted forward to help him, but someone intercepted her. Hermione found herself standing face to face with the gaunt face, burning black eyes and coal-black hair of a haughty, once-beautiful woman. She knew exactly who this was, and a powerful wave of anger smote her. The cackling sound of cold, shrill laughter – so like Voldemort's only tinged with madness – filled the air around her, bringing back memories and stories she had heard from those who had been eyewitnesses. Hermione raised her wand into the sneering, scornful face and pointed it directly at Bellatrix Lestrange.  
  
"We have never met, have we?" scorned the witch.  
  
"I know who you are," said Hermione coolly.  
  
"And I know you well." There was a bitter tone in Bellatrix's voice as she spat out the words. "You are the reason my master no longer seeks my company in the dark nights, when I lie cold and alone with a boring husband beside me. You are the reason he no longer sees me when we lie in the fire- lit rooms. You have stolen him from me ... the only man I have ever really loved, or will ever love ..."  
  
"I – " Hermione stared at her, and then she heard a bitter laugh – _her_ bitter laugh – ring out, as she was incredibly struck by the irony. "I suppose we have repaid our debts then, Bellatrix. You also took from me the only man I have ever really loved, or will ever love."  
  
For a moment, Bellatrix looked taken aback. Then she threw her head back and laughed and loud and poisonous laugh, cackling with mad humour and mockery. "Oh, you pathetic little child! Did my cousin mean so much to you?"  
  
"I could kill you," said Hermione softly.  
  
"And I will kill you."  
  
The wands were pointed at the other's chests. They stood only three feet apart, not close enough to attack each other with their hands, but not far enough to escape an Unforgivable Curse if it was to be uttered by either one of them. Hermione stared into the haunted, mad, cruel eyes and wondered if she could kill another human being. Did Bellatrix even count as human? And even so, did she have enough anger and hatred inside her to say those fatal words?  
  
And quite suddenly, images flashed through Hermione's mind. She saw Frank and Alice Longbottom, round-cheeked and beaming, waving at her from the photograph Moody had once shown her of the original Order of the Phoenix. The frame melted, and she saw the gaunt, timid face of Alice Longbottom as she was today, her mind broken by the power of the woman Hermione now stood before – and the she saw also the pale, lonely face of her son Neville. The image changed, and she saw Sirius with his wand outstretched. She had not actually seen it happen, but the picture was so vividly conjured in her mind. She saw Sirius falling backwards, falling ... his laughter turning to fear ... and she saw Bellatrix standing above him and watching him, and laughing as he died ...  
  
Hermione knew in that instant, that she had enough anger and hatred to kill.  
  
"_AVADA_ – " screamed Bellatrix.  
  
But Hermione was quicker.  
  
"_Avada Kedavra_," she said quietly.  
  
That was all it took. A jet of bright green light, a soft expelling of a last breath, a crumpled pale body ... and Bellatrix Lestrange was no more.  
  
Hermione stood still, her eyes fixed upon the dead woman. She did not register her hand shaking as it tossed her wand away to the side. She was still shaken by what she had just done, and could not tear her gaze away. The room swam around her, blurred and silent; her eyes saw nothing, her ears heard nothing. All her attention was focused on the crumpled body before her, the first person she had ever killed, and in her mind she saw the images of Frank and Alice, of Neville, of Sirius, of Bellatrix playing themselves over and over like a reel.  
  
About fifteen feet away, Cerberus lay panting on the ground. Sirius, bruised and cut and in considerable pain, bounded off of him and transformed back into a man. His hand closed over Hermione's tossed wand as he turned back to the panting (and bleeding in a ghostly fashion) three- headed hellhound, and he pointed the wand down at the brutal beast.  
  
"One word is all it would take," said Sirius, "And I could blast you into the Mists."  
  
Cerberus trembled. "No!" he spoke gruffly and desperately, "You do not know what the Mists are like! You know nothing of them. They are a nightmare, they are infinitely worse than hell. You cannot do that to me! Surely you, a canine such as yourself, understand why I did what I did! Lord Hades would have destroyed me if I had refused to carry out his orders."  
  
"You don't deserve my mercy," growled Sirius.  
  
"Please – please, I'm begging you – "  
  
He looked pathetic, suddenly small and shrivelled, a mangy mongrel with three heads and drool and little else. Sirius's mind flashed with an image of Wormtail snivelling on the ground.  
  
"You don't deserve this," he said quietly, and lowered his wand. In disgust, he turned away, looking for Hermione, looking for Harry, who had been missing for a long time now. Where was Harry? Were he and the Dark Lord duelling? Sirius felt his chest grow tight. The fate of their worlds was being decided now as the two enemies faced each other ... and he didn't have a clue what was going on ... he wanted to help Harry now ...  
  
A snarl echoed from nearby.  
  
He whirled around, and saw Cerberus on his feet. The six red eyes glowed maliciously, and he was moving swiftly towards ... _Hermione_.  
  
He was going to carry out his master's orders – and kill her, so that Sirius failed his task.  
  
But failing was the last thought on Sirius's mind. All he saw was Hermione standing there and staring down at – at Bellatrix, he noticed with some shock – with a dazed expression on her face. He felt her wand in his hands, leaving her unprotected from a fierce beast. He saw Hermione turning her head and saw the look of fear as Cerberus advanced towards her. He imagined her screaming as deadly, savage claws sliced into her and tore her to pieces ... and even though it had not yet happened, it made him feel as if he was being torn into pieces himself.  
  
And then Cerberus pounced.  
  
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TBC.  
  
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A/N: A thrilling cliff-hanger, if I do say so myself! ;-) Yes, yes, I plead forgiveness from all the readers who are going to hate me for putting yet another cliffy into my story, and am currently grovelling. However, if I get more reviews, I'll make sure everybody finds out what happens after this!!! I'm very grateful to all the people who have reviewed so far (many of whom have written more than once), and hope you all enjoyed this chapter.  
  
Just in case, by some remote chance, anybody is wondering about the references made at the beginning of this chapter: 'Sauron' is the Dark Lord of "The Lord of the Rings", and 'Darth Vader' is the bad guy in "Star Wars". 


	12. The Choices

  
  
Disclaimer: "Harry Potter" and all other aspects of this fic that you recognize (unless they're from any of my other fics) all belong to J.K. Rowling, and not to me! The storyline and the ideas involved in this story, however, do belong to me!  
  
Summary: A dark force haunts the trio. When the dead come back to life, can you deal with what they might have to tell you? This is a story about loss, damnation, and a dead man's second chance at redemption ...  
  
Note: This is the final chapter.  
  
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**Road to Redemption**  
  
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Chapter Twelve: The Choices  
  
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As the hellhound pounced, Sirius registered dimly that he was moving. He didn't think, he didn't consider the consequences he himself would suffer, he didn't even think about what Hermione might do to him if he escaped it in one piece – all he knew was that Cerberus was attacking Hermione, and he was going to stop it. He couldn't afford to lose her. She was the only thing he had left to lose, and so he didn't care about what he was doing as he moved.  
  
Although human, he moved faster than the dog. His arms moved around Hermione, his body shielding her from the dog. He buried his face in her hair, hearing her horrified cry from far away, and closed his eyes, preparing for the agony of claws tearing into him.  
  
But it didn't happen.  
  
There was a colossal burst of white light between Sirius and Cerberus, and Cerberus was flung backwards so hard that when he hit the wall, he disappeared – and a charred patch was left on the wall. Astounded and utterly amazed, Sirius and Hermione stared in silence at the patch on the wall, unable to believe what had just happened. Then Hermione turned towards Sirius with a dazed, questioning look as if to confirm that she had not imagined the entire scene. Sirius realized his heart was pounding hard, but it slowly began to slow down as he looked down at her. Then he smiled slightly and kissed her on the forehead.  
  
"Sirius, I don't understand," she said softly, sounding like a hurt child, "What just happened to him? Why did he try to kill me? Would it have been possible for him to hurt me – I mean, he's not a living person!" Her eyes were wide as they looked up at him.  
  
"I can touch you," Sirius said, "And if I wanted to, I could kill you. Thus, Cerberus can do the same."  
  
"But he didn't – "  
  
"No. Something stopped him."  
  
Hermione looked up at him in silence for a moment, in such utter wonder that he nearly laughed. "_You_ stopped him," she fumbled, her voice catching, "You came here and stopped him – even thought he could have killed – killed you even more than you already are killed, and could have blasted you away to those Mists or whatever they're called. You risked that."  
  
Sirius thought she was getting a little confused. He looked awkward and looked for a way out of replying to what she had just said. "I reacted on instinct."  
  
"Is it instinct to play the hero, Sirius?" she asked softly.  
  
He didn't say anything for a moment, and they were diverted by Moody letting out a mixture of a sigh and a growl of triumph as Rabastan Lestrange fell down, dead. Any remaining Death Eaters had already fled. The ones in the room were either dead or doomed to Azkaban (a better guarded Azkaban). Hermione looked at Moody quietly, unable to suppress a small flicker of satisfaction that they had won a great battle today, but then something else struck her even harder. She realized that one of her best friends was very possibly badly wounded ... or dead ...  
  
'_No_,' she thought desperately, '_He's not dead, not Harry_.'  
  
Almost as if he had heard her thoughts, Harry himself came walking slowly out of the room up on the landing and reached the top of the stairs. An unreal hush fell over the people in the hall as they stared up at him.  
  
Hermione felt simultaneously as if her heart was soaring as well as plunging. She was delighted to see him alive and not crippled, but she could see that he had been through hell. He was bleeding from one of his arms and there was a nasty cut on his cheek, but Hermione saw with her characteristic perception that he was bleeding in deeper places too. Perhaps those were wounds that would never heal, the wounds of war, wounds even she would carry. She stared at the figure that walked slowly down the stairs, pausing a little way from the bottom. It was no longer a boy that she looked at, and somehow that made tears spring to her eyes. This was Harry Potter, the Boy Who Won; Harry – a man.  
  
"Harry ... ?" said Dumbledore softly, gently, inquiringly.  
  
"Oh, yes," said Harry in an even but emotionless voice, "He's dead."  
  
A few people stirred. Moody actually smiled. Hermione thought about how different this scene was from the one she had always pictured would follow after Harry killed Voldemort. There would be cheers and whoops and Fred and George would unleash fireworks and Professor McGonagall would try half- heartedly to reprimand them, and there would be laughter – fresh, relieved, easy laughter.  
  
But there was none of that. Nobody was cheering or whooping or making any noise. There were no fireworks from the twins, who stared with sympathy at Harry. Professor McGonagall was sobbing into her everlasting handkerchief. And nobody was laughing. Hermione had no doubt that they were all immensely relieved and glad to hear the Dark Lord was gone – she was – but at the moment, the shock of realizing it was really all over had curbed their vibrant enthusiasm. And – and this was the real reason behind it all – every person in the room, including those who had never even actually spoken to Harry before, like Hestia Jones – they were all affected by the sight of Harry standing there on the stairs and looking down at them with that impenetrable expression on his face. But his eyes weren't blank. They were moving over the group, as if they were searching.  
  
Hermione saw Harry through a hot film of tears, but she moved. She wove through Lupin and Tonks, Dumbledore and Hagrid, and reached Harry on the stairs. Out of the corner of the eye, she saw that Ron had started moving at exactly the same time. Harry looked at her as she started up the stairs towards him, and she saw the emotionless mask on his face crack and shatter.  
  
She put her arms around him, and hugged him tightly. He was the boy again, the wounded child looking for comfort. He hugged her back, and she could feel a dampness on the side of her hair where his face was buried. She thought that for now, at least, the bleeding had stopped. Ron came up to them, taller and lankier than either of them, and he hugged them both.  
  
"It's over," mumbled Ron, nearly crying himself.  
  
Hermione stroked Harry's hair gently, an oddly maternal touch.  
  
"I hope you're proud of me," they heard Harry say softly.  
  
"We are, mate," said Ron.  
  
Hermione smiled slightly. She had a feeling Harry hadn't been saying that to them, but to the three people he had lost and who were undoubtedly all watching him.  
  
Far across the room, Sirius stared at Harry, Ron and Hermione. His hand rested against the wall for support; he had been wounded by Cerberus, and he just stared at the three young teenagers standing on the stairs. Nobody had broken the silence, and he could see why. Nobody seemed to have the voice to; although Professor McGonagall and Molly Weasley were crying. Sirius glanced sideways and saw Remus Lupin looking in his direction, his eyes probing as if searching for the figure he knew was standing there. Sirius smiled slightly. He looked back at Harry and Hermione. Voldemort was dead. Hermione was safe. Harry was alive. Sirius was happier than anybody could know about that, but he would not have been human if he hadn't felt a terrible surge of regret.  
  
His time was over.  
  
There was a shimmering sound beside him, and Sirius didn't even have to turn to know that Saint Peter was now standing next to him and looking at him with that benevolent and sympathetic gaze of his.  
  
"Touching, isn't it?"  
  
Sirius didn't reply. He said instead: "Time to go?"  
  
"Yes ... you must come with me now, Mr Black. Your judgment has arrived."  
  
"I thought it might have. After all, my task is complete. Even if I may have screwed it up."  
  
He could feel Peter's thoughtful gaze.  
  
"Do you want to – ?"  
  
"No," said Sirius quickly, "I don't want to say goodbye. I – I can't."  
  
"Very well then," said Peter gently, reaching out and taking a hold of Sirius's arm. "Come along then."  
  
But he didn't shimmer them away for a moment.  
  
Sirius looked slowly from Moony, his best friend, to Harry, his godson, and Hermione.  
  
Yes, his time was over.  
  
Dead men have to return to their graves.  
  
And sleeping dogs must lie.  
  
"Well," he said with an effort, smiling his old Marauder's grin, "It's been fun."  
  
And then they were gone.  
  
**.  
  
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**  
Sirius found himself standing once again in Peter's office. He had grown heartily sick of it by now, and he was extremely tired and drained. As he landed on the absurd flooring of clouds, he saw that all of his injuries were gone. That meant his weariness and pain was inside. Well, he had expected that. He sighed and looked around – gold pillars, white walls, a large arched door and through the door he could see across masses of clouds to a flight of stairs that led up to large Golden Gates. Hardly his destination, he thought. He tried to imagine what hell would be like.  
  
"You know, Mr Black," Peter's voice cut into his thoughts, dry and faintly amused, "It never pays off to be such an incurable pessimist. I would suggest you cease your imaginings of what Hell is like. Should you ever witness it, it will exceed all your expectations. It is – in a word – _hell_."  
  
Sirius frowned at the saint, who was now perched on the edge of his desk in a very un-saintly sort of way. "You can read my thoughts?" he demanded indignantly.  
  
Peter waved this away impatiently. "I'm a saint, my boy, I can do anything."  
  
"Got a good opinion of yourself, haven't you?"  
  
"Don't expect to lure me into an argument, Mr Black, I'm far too old for such indulgences." Peter shook his head and then leaned back slightly, tapping his mouth with a finger in a very thoughtful manner, his eyes fixed upon Sirius with that same closely penetrating look. Sirius felt once again like a schoolboy being brought to task by Professor McGonagall. Then Peter spoke: "I wanted to know if you have any questions for me. Anything you're confused about?"  
  
"Yes," said Sirius at once, suddenly realizing that he did have a great deal to be baffled about, and that as a last wish for a condemned man, it was probably simple courtesy for saints to offer the truth. "I want to know about Harry."  
  
"Harry? What about Harry?"  
  
"What's his fate? Where is he going to go when he dies?"  
  
"I don't usually share the fates of others with a person, but I shall do so for you. After what he did today in literally saving the world, Harry Potter's fate is assured. He is going to join his parents in Heaven. After this day, if he chooses to ruin his life with vice, cruelty and criminal behaviour, he may earn enough negative points to warrant Hell – but I somehow doubt he will do any such thing."  
  
"No, no he won't," said Sirius, suddenly smiling. It made him feel a little happier to know that his godson would be all right, come what may. He had people to watch over him in life, and he would have people to take care of him in death. He was thrilled to know Harry would be with his parents again, even if he couldn't be there.  
  
"However," said Peter with an indulgent look, "It will be a long time yet before Harry Potter arrives in the Tunnel of After-Dying, so you may rest assured on that fact. That boy is going to live to a ripe old age, and may possibly have twelve children. Of course, that depends on him."  
  
"I should hope so," murmured Sirius.  
  
"Anything else?"  
  
"Yes – what the devil happened to Cerberus tonight?"  
  
Peter's expression shadowed for a moment, and he actually scowled. "A very troubling incident. Cerberus, I am happy to inform you and very happy to know it myself, has been blasted into the Mists. Not by Hades, as you may assume, but by – well, never mind. I shall come to that. His threat to the world is over. Once a dead person or creature has been blasted to the Mists, there is no reversal of the destruction. You may also like to know that Beings More Powerful Than Myself are going to be dealing very severely with Hades for what he attempted to do. Most irregular, and against all laws of the Afterlife."  
  
"Quite," said Sirius, still rather baffled.  
  
"And did you have any other questions?" Peter inquired.  
  
Sirius shook his head, feeling empty and tired again. "No ... nothing."  
  
There was a pause, in which Sirius looked up at Peter and saw the saint staring back at him with a quiet and thoughtful look in his eyes. It was as if Peter knew exactly what he was thinking – which, of course, he did. The saint said, "Why do you look so miserable, Mr Black?"  
  
"Nothing made any difference," said Sirius bitterly, "Everything I did – everything Hermione has done – it hasn't made one bit of difference. Oh yes, innocent lives will be saved like Mundungus Fletcher's was saved. But what about hers?"  
  
"Mr Black, I want you to understand something. This was all meant to happen. It was planned beforehand by the fates, and only the choices made by the players in the puppet show – the humans themselves – can change the course of time. Hermione's excursion into the future gave her a certain knowledge that she was meant to discover. It offered her a choice once she returned to her own time. By the course of time that progressed, resulting in the future you and she saw – she chose not to let herself get captured. Nonetheless, she _was_ eventually captured. You attempted to protect her for a year, Mr Black, a whole year. After about a year and a month of protecting her, an accident occurred – Cerberus's doing – and she was captured. By then, people were already dead. By making her choice, Hermione precipitated Harry's killing of the Dark Lord – and lives were saved."  
  
"But even after Voldemort is gone, there are still some Death Eaters on the loose, waiting for revenge!" Sirius protested angrily, "And Hermione is doomed to see the Grim and to die on the wretched night!"  
  
"Haven't you realized yet, Mr Black? It was never the Grim she saw. It was _Cerberus_."  
  
"Cerberus?" Sirius stared at Peter, shocked.  
  
"Yes, Cerberus ... up to his tricks again. Because, you see, in the alternate future, he was not destroyed at all. The person who sent him back to hell thought he _had_ destroyed him for good, but no human soul has the power to send a minion of Hades's to the Mists by themselves."  
  
"But Cerberus _is_ gone for good now," said Sirius slowly.  
  
"Yes, he is. And thus, Hermione will not die."  
  
Sirius looked up sharply, staring at Peter with wonder and amazement filling him. "You mean – she'll live, and the future we saw will not come to pass after all?"  
  
"Yes, that's exactly what I mean."  
  
"But – how?"  
  
"Tonight, one more choice was made that changed the course of time, Mr Black. _You_ made that choice, and it has saved Hermione's life. Future consequences cannot count in your point totals, I'm afraid, but I'm sure you're happy enough just knowing that she will live."  
  
Happy? He would jump over the moon if he could!  
  
Only ... a shadow fell over the elation.  
  
He wouldn't be there, to live alongside her.  
  
Sirius closed his eyes. 'Don't be a selfish bastard,' he told himself, 'This isn't about you'.  
  
"Yes, I'm more happy to know that than you'll ever know," he said quietly, "But I'd rather get the rest of this meeting and its trimmings over and done with as quickly as possible. I – I'm tired."  
  
"Then we shall proceed to your judgment."  
  
"Sure."  
  
"Well, as it stands, Mr Black, you're in a very unusual position indeed. I shall summarize events for you as briefly as possible. When you were sent back to earth, you had equal positive and negative points. With your excursion with time travel, an illegal operation, you lost a point. However, that was made up for by the point you gained by protecting your charge valiantly throughout the dangers of the future. Once again, your scales were balanced. Then your charge escaped your watch and got herself captured, for whatever reasons, we shall not go into them, you know them as well as I do. The fact remains, she was captured – you had failed to prevent that. Thus, one more negative point. Your negative points were greater than your positive."  
  
Sirius gritted his teeth, looking down at the cloud beneath his feet. He knew all of this. Why didn't Peter just go ahead and announce his fate so that it could be over and done with.  
  
"However, your adaptation skills on earth in the way you nobly protected a second charge – Harry Potter – when Hermione Granger was captured, earned you another positive point. Once again, you struck a balance. But then almost immediately you earned another negative point by exacting violence on a defenceless human – the owner of the Hog's Head pub, even if he deserved what you gave him."  
  
"So it's pretty simple, isn't it," said Sirius gruffly, "I've got more negative points than positive, so I have to go to – "  
  
"Mr Black," said Peter, amused, "You struck a balance again."  
  
"What?" Sirius gaped.  
  
"Yes ... I've never known a more annoying soul than you. For the fourth time, you struck a balance. Your act of mercy, Mr Black, earned you more favour than I can explain. You had every reason and every opportunity to destroy Cerberus right then and there when you had him on the ground – but you showed him mercy and spared him. That was a mark of true nobility and strength of character. It earned you a very great positive point indeed. If our system of points allowed the endowment of more than one point per deed, you would certainly have won many for that act. As it stands, you balanced your scales out again." (Sirius groaned).  
  
"So what now?" the much-tried wizard said exasperatedly, "You're not going to give me _another_ task and send me back down to earth to do some more good and mischief, are you?"  
  
"In the final total, Mr Black, you most certainly do not strike a balance. There was one more act you committed after showing Cerberus mercy. That, I am very happy to inform you, has given you more positive points than negative. In fact, that act has earned you an Exceptional Point. It is a special point that offers certain benefits."  
  
Sirius stared in disbelief, unable to believe his ears.  
  
"Tell me, Mr Black, why did James and Lily reach a special world of Heaven?"  
  
"Because – because they died for Harry?"  
  
"Precisely," Peter actually smiled, "That act was one of pure goodness and sacrifice. There was no selfishness allowed in it at all, and they earned Exceptional Points for that as well. Tonight, you did something that saved Hermione's life in the future. That did not win your Exceptional for you. What did win it was the fact that you saved her life in the _present_."  
  
"I don't understand – "  
  
"Cerberus would have destroyed her tonight, Mr Black, don't you remember? You, however, didn't let that happen. Instinctively, nobly, heroically – and a little poetically, I'm afraid – you risked your own neck – your own agony and destruction – by barring the way and preventing him from attacking her. In a way, you gave your life for hers."  
  
"But Cerberus didn't attack me. Something happened – he was thrown against the wall – "  
  
"And blasted into the Mists, into his own destruction," said Peter, smiling.  
  
"_How_?"  
  
Sirius's head throbbed from all the information he was receiving, and he was utterly at a loss. But Peter was smiling at him still, that indulgent and amused smile.  
  
The saint explained: "Consider what Cerberus and his master are. They are dwellers of Hell, Mr Black, they are purely wicked and evil. It is not difficult to understand. Indeed, it's a similar concept to that of your Dark Lord, who was destroyed as well tonight. There is only one weapon that is infallible when dealing with evil, only one weapon that they have no power whatsoever to fight. Without realizing it, Mr Black, you used that weapon tonight and that weapon destroyed Cerberus for all of eternity."  
  
"What weapon?" Sirius demanded, thinking of Hermione's wand. Certainly it was a powerful one that even Harry was rather afraid of.  
  
Peter smiled. "Love."  
  
Sirius stood stock still, staring at the saint.  
  
_Love_ ...  
  
Harry had been protected by love. He and Hermione had been protected by love. Cerberus had died because he tried to attack people protected by the unbreakable sacrifices of love.  
  
"You were willing to die – in a manner of speaking – for her. Your love was so powerful that no demon can ever fight it."  
  
Sirius didn't say anything; his eyes stung.  
  
Finally, he looked up into Peter's twinkling eyes again. "So that earned me my Exceptional Point?" he said quietly, and with a hint of excitement throbbing inside him. Could this be true? Was he really, finally, going to reach Heaven and reach old friends who had not been forgotten ...?  
  
"Yes," said Peter. "You see, in the alternate future, you made a different choice. Instead of showing Cerberus mercy, you killed him and there. However, you did something else that night that earned you a different kind of Exceptional Point, but none of that matters now. The point is: you destroyed Cerberus, but as I said, no soul can do that on his own. Cerberus was only sent back to Hell but not to the Mists. Thus, he was available when Hades, thirsty for revenge, sent him to drive Hermione to the brink of madness. He haunted her, and succeeded in sending her out on that fatal night. But you made a different choice, Mr Black, and he is destroyed now – unable to haunt her."  
  
"Merlin's beard," muttered Sirius, utterly swamped.  
  
"Do you know what the Elysian Fields are, Mr Black?"  
  
Sirius shook his head.  
  
"The Elysian Fields are found in Greek mythology, if you will care to look it up sometime. As it stands, they exist – a special world in Heaven. Most people who reach Heaven merely reside in the Afterlife, content and at peace, but little else. In Elysium, it is almost literally a party. People enjoy themselves, laugh, make merry, drink and the like. All those souls who earn Exceptional Points are granted access to the Elysian Fields. Only the most exceptional of people reach there. You are thus granted access to the Fields."  
  
Sirius stared at Peter in silence for a moment, amazed. Then, instinctively, he turned his head and saw the Golden Gates of Heaven slowly, noiselessly, open wide. For him.  
  
He asked slowly, "So I go ... there?"  
  
"One moment," Peter said, smiling, "There is a little more for me to tell you. Elysium also offers one more choice for the souls. They can either reside in the Fields forever and enjoy themselves as they are presently, or they have the option to be reincarnated. It takes great courage to choose to be reincarnated, for it is an unpredictable world and you don't know what lot you may get."  
  
"Are you giving me that option?" asked Sirius, suddenly alert and remembering something.  
  
"Not quite. I have been conferring with the Fates. They are three women – the Maiden, the Mother, and the Crone. They – ah – seem to be rather taken with you. Your looks, I suppose, and charm ... the Maiden is particularly giggly whenever your topic is brought up. Women," Peter sighed, and then said, "Mr Black, between us, we have agreed that you are an exceptional and most unusual man. We have decided to give you one more option. Instead of being reincarnated, you have the choice of going back to earth as you are. Sirius Black's return, exactly as you look and are presently – only alive. Literally a resurrection of a dead man."  
  
For a moment, there was utter silence in the room. Sirius couldn't believe what he was hearing. Was he really being given the chance to go back to earth as he was now? Could Sirius Black really live again? He stared at Peter, reading the answer in his eyes, and croaked out: "Can you do that, really?"  
  
"It's a stretch, but it's a very unusual case. We offered the same choice to Joan of Arc, the only other soul to strike a balance between positive and negative in the Tunnel, but she chose to enter the Elysian Fields and enjoy herself. I think she was rather tired of all she had tried to do and had basically sent her message out to the world when she was burned."  
  
Sirius stared in silence.  
  
"Come with me," Peter said with a smile. He took Sirius to the arched doorway where they stared at the open Gates. Sirius saw a shadowy figure standing in the gateway. "You have someone waiting for you."  
  
Sirius would have recognized that figure anywhere.  
  
He stared longingly at James, remembering how he had dreamed of being with his best friend again. There had been times when he had been guilty of confusing Harry with James – twelve years in Azkaban had made him very lonely and never given him the chance to get past his best friend's death – and now there was James, waiting for him. Or was he? Sirius squinted against the glow of sunlight. Was James reaching a hand out to him, or was he grinning and waving?  
  
An image swam before Sirius's eyes. It was the image of a boy, a handsome boy with dark hair and eyes and great intelligence but a streak of mischief ... and the boy called Harry 'Uncle Harry'. Sirius suddenly felt understanding dawn on him. He heard Harry's voice in his mind – "_I've got a godfather, yet now I have a godson_" – 'I've got a godfather' in _present tense_ ... "_Reed's father – has been my only hope for thirteen years, believe it or not_" ... a perfectly reasonable statement if one considered who Reed's father actually was! Sirius's head whirled. In the alternate future, when he had been given the same choice, he had gone back. He _existed_ in that future ... where Hermione had not. And now ... now what was he to do? Would he make the same choice? Would he join James again, where they could watch everyone, or was he really going to go back and face the pain and pleasure of life?  
  
He looked at Peter, and knew that Peter had heard all his thoughts. And that Peter already knew what Sirius was going to do. After all, saints knew everything that went on in mortal man's dreams and secrets.  
  
"Go home, Sirius," said the saint with a smile.  
  
Sirius nodded. "Yes. Home."  
  
And before Peter sprinkled the silver dust on Sirius's head, Sirius remembered smiling and thinking:  
  
It was smarter not to let sleeping dogs lie after all.  
  
**.  
  
.  
  
.  
**  
Harry Potter sat on a rock beside the lake, staring out over the shimmering surface, lit with dew and the glistening rays of the sun. The leaves rustled in the autumn wind, and he picked up a pebble and tossed it over the smooth surface of the water. Hopefully, it wouldn't smack the giant squid while it was sleeping. That would not be a very wise move to make. Dark Lords could be dealt with. Violent water-dwellers were a different matter altogether.  
  
Behind him, there was a great deal of noise. There was a lengthy sort of beach stretching up between the lake and the grove of trees that obscured the distant castle from view. It was Saturday afternoon and there were naturally no lessons to worry about. Fred and George had made an appearance on Hogwarts grounds with Lupin, and they were engaged in some unnamed game that involved a lot of unruly behaviour. Ron had joined them, while Lupin gladly escaped it and settled for watching them instead. Hermione was leaned against one of the nearest trees to the 'beach', a book propped up on her knees. Harry turned his head away from the water and looked at her. Her expression was thoughtful and concentrated as she looked at the book, but he knew she hadn't turned the page in over an hour.  
  
It had been a week since the night he had killed Voldemort. Celebrations were rife all over the magical world, and at Hogwarts it was no exception, although people like Snape kept them drilled to their lessons. It felt very strange.  
  
Harry had felt his selfish anger and short temper ebb over the past week. He even had it in him to feel sorry for the Slytherins, many of whom were sons and daughters of Death Eaters. People like Malfoy had lost fathers. Harry, after all, knew how it felt. He was more mature now, but there were times when the boy in him surfaced briefly to join in the games and pranks. But most of the time, he didn't have the heart, and he felt like a traitor. It was just that he didn't feel anything was complete without –  
  
Sighing, Harry stood up. It was time to let go.  
  
He started walking towards Hermione to see what was the matter with her, but he had barely gotten five steps away from the rock when he heard a whooshing sound and a crash as a weight fell into the reeds lining the lake. Turning around sharply, his jaw dropped in astonishment. He saw a male figure struggle to extricate himself from the thorns and reeds. His astonishment faded; the colour drained from his face as he recognized the male figure standing up.  
  
"No," he choked out, "You can't be – "  
  
Sirius walked towards him, stumbling in his hurry. "Harry," he croaked, and seized the boy in a hug that nearly cut off his blood supply entirely.  
  
Harry stammered. "But – I don't – Sirius, how – oh my God!"  
  
As soon as Sirius released him, he threw himself right back at his godfather and this time it was Sirius who choked for breath. But the Animagus didn't mind; it was good to feel choked for breath again. He touched his lip which had been cut when he had come whooshing out of the sky. It was bleeding a little. It even felt good to really bleed. He was alive. He was actually alive. Suddenly he was thrown back against the grass as three weight descended upon him and Harry. Fred, George and Ron had realized they were not hallucinating and had decided to express their unadulterated delight at seeing Sirius Black again. Ron, Sirius realized, was howling.  
  
Taking pity on his godfather and unable to repress the elated smile and the light in his eyes, Harry wondered whether there were gods in the sky after all, who had granted his dearest wish. He bodily picked Ron away from Sirius, and managed to make Fred and George regain control of themselves. But it was Lupin who reached down, pulled Sirius off the ground, and hugged him.  
  
Harry registered a sense of _déjà vu_. The last time he had seen almost exactly the same choked-up movements between Lupin and Sirius had been in the Shrieking Shack when Lupin had confirmed his belief of Sirius's innocence and had embraced him like a brother. He looked at the two last Marauders, laughing and hugging each other. Sirius grinned at Lupin as the slightly older man drew back and stared at him in wonder. "Come now, Moony, don't tell me you're glad to see me!"  
  
"I've never been happier to see anyone in my life! And this time I can actually see you!"  
  
"This time?" Fred was puzzled.  
  
Harry demanded: "Sirius, we saw you fall – but you're here – alive – "  
  
"And a good week too late to catch the excitement," Ron said very reproachfully.  
  
Sirius and Lupin exchanged a grin.  
  
Sirius said gravely, "I'm sorry to hear that, Ron. I take it Voldemort's dead, then? By the way, I'm here because the Fates decided my work in the world isn't yet done. So I'm back."  
  
"Black is back," sniggered Fred and George happily.  
  
"Harry killed You-Know-Who," said Ron importantly, for all the world as if he had been the one to do the heroic act.  
  
"For pity's sake, Ronniekins, he's _dead_! Why are you still afraid to say his name?"  
  
"It's a mistake to insult the dead, you know."  
  
"Pshaw!"  
  
Harry paid no attention to any of this. He was too busy staring at Sirius and drinking in the fact that he had his godfather, brother, substitute father and friend all back! If anything could have completed the magic of the week ... wait, it wasn't yet complete. He realized Hermione had not appeared to see Sirius yet. Sirius appeared to have realized this at the same time, because his eyes were suddenly fixed on a point over Harry's shoulder. Harry turned and saw Hermione. The book lay fallen on the grass beside her and she was standing a few feet away from the tree, staring at Sirius as if she was seeing a ghost (which, technically, was a reasonable reaction).  
  
But what happened next startled Harry as much as anybody else. Hermione suddenly burst into tears and flew across the 'beach' that lay between them. She flung her arms around Sirius's neck and he lifted her up right off the ground, laughing. Then he lowered her to her feet, leaned down, and kissed her.  
  
"So," he murmured against her mouth, "Do I kiss better alive?"  
  
"It's something to think about," said Hermione, with a sound halfway between a laugh and a teary hiccup.  
  
"I love you," Sirius said.  
  
Harry's mouth fell open.  
  
Ron had fallen over.  
  
"Well!" said the twins with identical grins.  
  
Lupin was smiling, and appeared greatly amused by something.  
  
"Sirius," Hermione said suddenly, frowning suddenly, "Why are there scratches on your arms?"  
  
"Those damned reeds nearly maimed me!"  
  
"Excuse me," protested Ron weakly from where he was still prostrate on the ground, "But the rest of us are still here and are in states of considerable shock, in case neither of you have noticed."  
  
Sirius looked awkward for a moment. He let Hermione go and turned to Harry, who was hauling Ron to his feet. A reassuring glance from Remus seemed to restore his tongue to him. He sighed and said, "I realize you're shocked, Ron, and Harry, I think I owe you an explanation."  
  
"No, Sirius," said Harry suddenly, smiling. He was looking at Hermione's face; her eyes held more youth and light than he had seen in a very long time. "You don't have any explaining to do at all." Ron made a protesting noise – clearly he required explanations – but Harry promptly stepped on his foot, to the amusement of all the others. "I just have one thing to say to you, Sirius, and so you'd better listen to me." Harry suddenly grinned, the happy boy's grin again. "If you hurt her, I'll kill you myself."  
  
Sirius laughed, while Hermione blushed fierily. Sirius pulled Harry into a one-armed hug. "That's my boy," he grinned.  
  
Naturally, there was a great deal of clamouring for explanations and George reflected on the probabilities of whether his mother would faint or have a heart attack if she saw Sirius again. Fred was more interested in Snape's reaction, while Lupin and Harry started to plan a party and how to break the news gently to Dumbledore (who probably already knew, knowing him) and Ron continued to demand answers from Sirius as to when, where and how romance between a Marauder and a know-it-all rule-abider could possibly spring up.  
  
Hermione was noticeably silent. Sirius moved towards her and saw that she was staring at the lake and the thorny shrubs in which he had fallen. He also saw that she was smiling, more radiantly that he had ever seen her do.  
  
"What's so funny?" He raised an eyebrow.  
  
Hermione turned towards him, still smiling. "I just realized something."  
  
"What's that?"  
  
"I know now why we decided to name our son Reed."  
  
.  
  
**The End.  
**  
.  
  
A/N: This is a _long _chapter! I would have added a very short epilogue, but I don't think there's anything more to add. –Sigh- and I did so want to drag this story out as long as I could, but that would have ruined it. I've got a few ideas for other stories, including a possible sequel to this. The ideas are still unfolding in my head and may not work out, so I can't make any promises ... I think it's time to stop stalling and say my goodbyes to this fic. Thank you all SO MUCH for reading and reviewing this! Until next time ... 


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